UC-NRLF 


Library 

of 

H.  A.  Sherman 
NO.  684 


THE  WHITE   MAIL 


THE  WHITE  MAIL 


BY 
CY  WARMAN 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1899 


Copyright,  1899, 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


BRYAN    WARMAN 


WITH  A  FATHER'S  LOVE 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  WATCHMAN     .  i 

II.  AGAIN  THE  REAPER 8 

III.  SLEEPING  OUT 13 

IV.  THE  FLOOD 21 

V.  TOMMY'S  REQUISITION 30 

VI.  THEY  HOIST  THE  FLAG 35 

VII.  THE  LABOR  QUESTION 40 

VIII.  LITTLE  JACK'S  PROMOTION     ....  44 

IX.  TOMMY  FLAGS  THE  WHITE  MAIL  .     .  49 

X.  TOMMY  McGuiRE  SEES  THE  CITY  .     .  55 

XL  THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S  TANK    .    .  67 

XII.  McGuiRE  GOES  WEST 82 

XIII.  McGuiRE   LEARNS   TELEGRAPHY  ...  90 

XIV.  STATION-MASTER  McGuiRE     ....  99 
XV.  THE  COMING  OF  THE  Sioux  .     .     .    .  108 

XVI.  McGuiRE  GOES  SWITCHING     ....  119 

XVII.  SNOWBOUND 132 

XVIII.  BREAKING  THE  TRAIL 151 

XIX.  A  NEW  LINE 157 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
XX. 

XXI. 


PAGE 


COMING  HOME 161 

ON  A  ROLLING  SEA 171 

XXII.    THE  NEW  PRESIDENT 176 

XXIII.  THE  MAID  OF  ERIN 184 

XXIV.  OVER  THE  BIG  BRIDGE 194 


The  White  Mail 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    PASSING    OF   THE    WATCHMAN 

DENIS  McGUIRE  lived  at  Lick  Skillet, 
on  the  ridge  between  the  east  and  west 
forks  of  Silver  Creek,  midway  between  Troy 
and  St.  Jacobs,  twenty-two  miles  east  of  St. 
Louis  —  Vandalia  line.  Denis  McGuire  was 
the  section  boss,  Tommy  McGuire  was  his 
only  heir,  Mrs.  McGuire,  in  addition  to  being 
Tommy's  mother,  made  herself  generally 
useful  about  the  house. 

Lick  Skillet  possessed  a  saw-mill  and  a 
blacksmith  shop,  and  contained,  if  we  count 
the  "nigger"  who  drove  Jim  Anderson's  bull 
team  at  the  mill,  twenty-seven  souls. 

Denis  McGuire  was  an  honest  Irishman, 
industrious  and  sober,  except  on  Saturday 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


nights,  and  possibly  Sunday.  He  was  unable 
to  read  or  write,  even  his  own  name.  Heidel 
berg,  the  station  agent  at  St.  Jacobs,  the 
eastern  terminus  of  McGuire's  section,  kept  his 
books  and  accounts  and  the  time  of  the  men. 
In  return  for  this  kindness  McGuire  used  to  do 
odd  spurts  of  manual  toil  for  Heidelberg. 
Sometimes,  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  he  would 
set  his  car  off  at  the  end  of  his  run,  take  his 
men  over  (between  trains)  and  shovel  snow 
and  saw  wood  for  the  agent.  In  summer, 
when  they  had  their  scythes  out,  they  invari 
ably  cut  the  weeds  on  the  vacant  lot  between 
the  station  and  Heidelberg's  house,  clipped 
the  lawn,  and  weeded  the  garden. 

Down  by  West  Silver  Creek  bridge  there  was 
a  water  tank  and  a  pump,  whose  motive  power 
was  a  mule.  Close  by  the  bank  of  the  lazy 
little  river  stood  the  watchman's  shanty,  nar 
row,  high,  and  painted  red,  like  the  tank,  and 
like  hundreds  of  other  shanties  that  were  strung 
along  the  line  from  St.  Louis  to  Indianapolis. 
Rain  or  shine  old  man  Connor  was  always  there 
to  show  his  white  light  to  the  engineer  of  the 
Midnight  Express,  and  a  white  flag  to  the  men 


THE  PASSING  OF   THE    WATCHMAN  3 

on  the  White  Mail  in  the  morning.  Beyond  the 
bridge,  a  round-faced  lad  of  sixteen  summers 
trudged  after  the  mule,  who  appeared  always 
to  be  going  sidewise,  as  a  boar  goes  to  battle. 
The  round-faced  boy  was  the  old  watchman's 
eldest  son,  a  good-natured,  lazy  lad  who  could 
not  whistle  a  tune,  but  who  was  forever  singing, 
"The  Hat  Me  Father  Wore." 

When  the  old  man  had  walked  across  the 
bridge  and  back,  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
glanced  at  the  block  on  the  figure- board  to 
see  that  the  tank  was  full  of  water,  filled  his 
red  light  and  his  white  light,  polished  the 
globes,  and  set  them  both  burning  by  the  door, 
he  would  light  his  pipe  and  sit  and  gaze  down 
into  the  dirty  delinquent  river,  that  came 
cautiously  under  the  bridge,  crept  noiselessly 
away  and  lost  itself  in  the  mournful,  malarial 
forest. 

Patient  as  a  monk,  solitary  as  a  bandit, 
lonely  as  an  outcast,  the  faithful  watchman 
dwelt  by  the  bridge.  To  the  gray-haired  driver 
of  the  Midnight  Express,  whose  black  steed 
lifted  him  in  a  short  half  hour  out  of  the  great 
American  bottoms,  by  the  coal  mines  at  Col- 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


linsville  and  up  to  the  tablelands  of  Troy,  who 
strained  his  eye  around  the  curve  at  Hagler's 
Tank,  he  showed  the  friendly  white  light. 
"  Let  her  go,"  it  seemed  to  say,  and  the  great 
headlight,  trembling  down  the  long  grade, 
flashed  a  moment  on  the  storm-stained  face 
of  the  old  watchman,  and  was  gone  again. 
Nor  did  he  sleep  or  nod  or  close  his  eyes 
until  the  dawn  of  day ;  until  he  had  shown  the 
milk-white  flag  to  the  men  on  the  White  Mail 
in  the  morning. 

But  time  will  tell  upon  us  all.  It  told  upon 
the  bridge,  upon  the  old  man  and  the  mule. 
In  spring  the  carpenters  would  come  and  fix 
and  brace  the  bridge,  that  had  been  racked  and 
strained  by  ice  and  flood.  In  spring  the  local 
doctor  gave  the  old  man  something  for  his 
cough,  and  the  old  man  cut  a  quaking  asp  and 
fixed  it  in  the  stall  for  the  mule  to  gnaw ;  for 
its  bark  was  the  bitters  the  mule  needed  in 
spring. 

At  the  far  end  of  a  raw,  cold  March  the 
old  man  fell  sick  of  a  fever;  typhoid-pneu 
monia  the  doctor  called  it,  a  cruel  combi 
nation,  either  half  of  which  could  kill. 


THE   PASSING  OF   THE    WATCHMAN  5 

It  was  midsummer  before  he  was  able  to 
take  his  post  at  the  bridge  again. 

In  the  autumn  he  had  ague  that  shook  his 
bent  frame  and  made  his  old  bones  ache.  All 
night  he  would  watch  in  the  little  shanty,  all 
the  morning  shake  with  ague,  and  burn  with 
fever  in  the  afternoon. 

When  winter  came  the  ague  went  away,  but 
it  left  the  old  man  bent  and  pale.  His  cough 
grew  worse,  and  finally  a  severe  cold  put  him 
on  his  back  with  pneumonia. 

When  the  day  set  down  by  the  doctor  for  a 
change,  "  one  way  or  the  other,"  had  arrived, 
the  medical  expert  lost  nothing  by  the  predic 
tion.  Like  the  Oracle  at  Delphi  that  assured 
the  king  that  his  war  would  wreck  an  empire, 
without  saying  which  empire,  the  doctor's  repu 
tation  was  reasonably  safe.  As  the  day  wore 
away  the  old  man  grew  restless.  At  night  the 
fever  came  on.  At  midnight  he  leaped  from 
his  bed,  seized  the  lamp  that  stood  upon  the 
little  table  near  him,  and  rushed  out  into  the 
rain-swept  night  to  show  it  to  the  driver  of 
the  Midnight  Express.  When  the  train  had 
crashed  over  the  cattle-guards  at  the  road 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


crossing,  the  watchman  went  back  into  the 
house,  but  refused  to  go  to  bed  again.  "I 
can't  go  yet,"  he  said,  "I  must  wait  for  the 
White  Mail." 

They  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  told 
them  to  send  for  the  priest. 

When  the  dawn  came  the  old  man  opened 
his  eyes. 

"Me  flag,"  he  cried,  "  where  is  me  flag?" 
and  Mrs.  Connor  brought  a  clean  white  flag 
and  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

Now  the  White  Mail  that  had  come  out  of 
the  east  in  the  afternoon,  crossed  Indiana  in 
the  evening,  and  entered  Illinois  in  the  night, 
dropped  from  the  great  prairie  into  the  sag  at 
East  Creek,  lifted  again,  screamed  across  the 
ridge,  and  plunged  down  the  long  hill  towards 
West  Creek  bridge. 

The  old  watchman,  hearing  the  roar  and  the 
whistle,  grasped  his  flag  and  darted  from  the 
door.  As  he  reached  the  open  air  the  White 
Mail  went  roaring  past.  A  white  ribbon  of 
steam  fluttered  from  the  engine  dome  and 
floated  far  back  along  the  top  of  the  train. 
The  old  man  flourished  his  flag,  staggered, 


THE  PASSING  OF   THE    WATCHMAN  7 

swayed,  fell  into  the  arms  of  his  wife,  and  they 
carried  him  into  the  house  again. 

When  the  priest  came  the  old  watchman  was 
sleeping  with  his  cold  hands  crossed  above  his 
breast  and  candles  burning  about  his  bed. 


CHAPTER    II 

AGAIN   THE    REAPER 

AT  the  suggestion  of  the  section  boss,  the 
agent  asked  the  roadmaster  to  put  Jim- 
mie  Connor  on  the  bridge  as  watchman,  and 
give  little  Jack,  his  brother,  the  mule  and  the 
tank. 

After  that,  instead  of  the  bent  form  of  the 
old  man,  the  widow  saw  her  boy  coming  up 
from  the  bridge  of  a  morning  when  the  White 
Mail  had  gone  by. 

Everyone  was  kind  to  the  boys  and  gave 
them  encouragement. 

Conductor  Wise,  who  went  up  on  the  Mid 
night  Express  and  came  down  on  the  White 
Mail,  sent  a  dog  to  be  company  for  the 
young  watchman.  Charley  Cope,  who  fired  the 
Highland  Accommodation,  gave  little  Jack  a 
long  whip,  and  the  foreman  of  the  bridge  gang 
built  a  platform  so  that  he  could  stand,  or  sit 
in  the  centre  of  the  "  horse  power  "  like  the 
driver  of  a  threshing  machine. 


AGAIN  THE  REAPER 


But  with  all  this  kindness,  the  greatest  meas 
ure  of  help  and  comfort,  encouragement  and 
amusement,  came  from  little  Tommy  McGuire. 
Round-faced,  freckled,  happy,  careless,  "onry," 
the  neighbors  called  him.  He  found  some 
paint  one  day  that  the  painters  had  left  when 
they  painted  the  section  house,  painted  the 
white  calf  red  and  striped  the  goat  like  the  zebra, 
whose  life-sized  likeness  adorned  the  black 
smith  shop. 

The  agent,  who  was  something  of  a  philoso 
pher,  always  argued  that  Tommy  McGuire  was 
not  as  bad  as  he  was  painted.  He  was  not 
wicked,  but  curious,  Heidelberg  said.  When 
he  put  precisely  the  same  sized  can  to  Jimmie 
Connor's  dog  that  he  put  to  his  own  dog,  it 
was  not  to  punish  the  brutes,  but  merely  to  see 
which  would  get  home  first,  and  settle  a  dis 
pute  of  long  standing. 

When  he  took  his  red  spaniel  under  his 
naked  arm  and  dived  from  the  top  of  the 
bridge  when  the  river  was  running  bank  full,  it 
was  merely  to  see  which  could  stay  under  water 
longest,  himself  or  the  dog.  And  so,  behind 
all  of  his  mischief,  the  agent  was  able  to  see  a 


IO  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

motive.  It  was  the  boy's  unquenchable  thirst 
for  knowledge  that  made  him  want  to  explore 
everything,  from  the  cave  in  the  bluff  to  the 
crow's  nest  in  the  top  of  the  tallest  sycamore. 

It  may  be  that  the  Connor  boys  were  no 
better  because  of  his  visits,  but  they  were  hap 
pier  ;  he  was  company  for  them  and  made  them 
forget.  He  awed  them  with  his  wonderful  feats 
of  climbing,  diving,  swimming,  and  jumping. 
When  Jimmie,  the  watchman,  would  shrink 
back  and  hold  his  cap  as  the  cars  roared  past, 
Tommy  McGuire  would  stand  close  to  the  rail 
and  laugh  in  the  face  of  the  screaming  steed. 
Once,  just  to  see  how  it  would  feel,  he  hung 
from  the  bridge  by  his  legs  while  the  Midnight 
Express  went  by. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Connor  saw  Jimmie  swing 
ing  down  from  the  cab  of  a  freight  engine.  His 
feet  slipped  from  the  iron  step,  he  fell,  and  his 
mother  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and 
screamed.  In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet 
again,  waving  his  cap  encouragingly  to  his 
mother  and  signalling  to  the  engine  crew  to  go 
ahead.  But  he  was  not  unhurt.  When  they 
removed  his  trousers  they  found  that  the  flange 


AGAIN  THE  REAPER  II 

of  a  tank  wheel  had  sliced  the  whole  calf  off 
one  of  his  legs  right  down  to  the  bone. 

While  the  rest  were  busy  with  the  wounded 
boy,  Tommy  McGuire  went  down  to  the  tank 
to  break  the  news  to  little  Jack.  "  Don't  you 
be  afraid,"  said  he  to  the  pale  boy  who  was 
two  years  his  senior,  "  if  anything  happens  to 
Jimmie  I  '11  take  care  uv  you.  Dad  says  I  'm 
no  good,  mother  says  I  'm  sassy,  Mis'  Dutton 
says  I  'm  '  onry '  and  the  priest  says  I  'm  *  in- 
courageable,'  and  I  guess  the  're  all  about 
right,  but  you  know  me,  Jack,  eh  ?  old  man ! 
an'  you  know  I  '11  do  what  I  say." 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  pump  boy 
when  Tommy  took  his  two  hands,  gave  him  a 
jerk  forward,  let  him  go  and  hit  him  a  hard  jab 
in  the  ribs,  and  then,  as  he  turned,  gave  him  a 
kick  that  looked  worse  than  it  was. 

"  An'  I  've  got  a  frien'  Jack  me  boy,  'at  can 
git  us  anythin'  from  a  push  car  to  a  private  train 
—  that 's  Mr.  Heidelberg  —  he  's  me  frien'." 

Ten  days  from  the  day  the  accident  occurred, 
they  cut  Jimmie's  leg  off,  but  it  was  too  late. 
He  never  revived,  and  before  the  bewildered 
children  and  the  grief-sick  mother  could  realize 


12  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

what  had  happened,  they  had  crossed  his  help 
less  hands  over  his  youthful  breast  and  lighted 
the  candles. 

That  night  McGuire  and  his  men  came  and 
"  waked  "  Jimmie,  as  they  had  waked  his  father 
only  a  few  short  months  before. 

U.  P.  Burns  came  with  his  black  pipe  and  his 
black  bottle  and  smoked  and  drank  and  sang 
"  come-all-ye  "  songs. 


CHAPTER   III 

SLEEPING    OUT 

THE  world  looked  dark  to  the  widow 
Connor  when  her  husband  and  her  eldest 
son  were  sleeping  among  the  crosses  in  the 
little  Catholic  graveyard. 

Mrs.  McGuire  sent  Denis  to  see  Heidelberg, 
and  when  the  roadmaster  came  up  from  East 
St.  Louis  these  three  officials  held  an  important 
and  animated  meeting. 

This  conference  was  interrupted  by  Tommy 
McGuire,  who  burst  in  upon  them  like  a 
sunrise  in  the  desert. 

"  I  got  a  scheme,"  said  he  to  the  agent,  who, 
having  grown  up  under  a  cloud  similar  to  that 
which  hung  over  the  freckled  youth  in  front  of 
him,  beamed  upon  the  boy  encouragingly  and 
bade  him  reveal  his  plans.  "  Yo'  see,"  said 
Tommy,  ignoring  the  roadmaster  (he  never 
noticed  his  father,  probably  because  his  father 
never  noticed  him),  "  Jack  can't  keep  th'  pump, 
'cause  he  can't  harness  d'  mule,  an'  he  can't 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


mind  d'  bridge  'cause  it 's  too  lonesome.  Now 
I  aint  got  nofin  t'  do,  an'  I  can  run  d'  pump  in 
daytime,  an'  Jack  can  sleep  n  'en  I  can  sleep  in 
d'  shanty  nights,  an'  Jack  can  wake  me  when 
d'  Midnight  Express  goes  by,  n  'ne  I  can  go  t' 
sleep  agin." 

Tommy  had  talked  very  rapidly,  and  now  as 
he  paused  for  breath  he  glanced  at  the  road- 
master. 

"  And  who's  goin'  t'  'arness  th'  mule  fur  ye, 
me  lad?"  asked  the  gruff  official. 

Tommy  gave  him  a  dark  look  and  turned  to 
the  agent,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  This  is  our  end 
of  the  road." 

"  I  seen  Mr.  Collins,"  he  said  to  the  station- 
master,  "  an'  he 's  goin'  t'  build  me  a  platform 
long  side  d'  stall  so  I  can  harness  d'  mule  and 
jump  on  his  back  an'  go  to  me  work  'thout 
asken  any  odds  uv  U.  P.  er  anybody,  an'  till  he 
gets  d'  platform  done  d'  mule  can  sleep  in  his 
harness  a  few  nights  —  taint  no  worse  fur  'im 
than  fur  me  t'  sleep  in  me  clothes,  an'  that 's  what 
I  'm  goin'  to  do." 

"Very  well,  Tommy,"  said  the  agent,  "you 
wait  outside  and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done." 


SLEEPING  OUT  15 

"  Well,"  began  the  roadmaster,  when  the 
august  body  had  reconvened,  "  if  ye's  fellies 
wants  to  open  a  kindergarden,  ye  kin  do  it,  but 
mind,  I  tell  ye,  it 's  agin  me  judgment  t*  put  a 
lad  like  little  Jack  Connor  watchin'  a  bridge  o' 
nights." 

"  I  '11  be  responsible  fur  Jack,"  said  McGuire, 
speaking  for  the  first  time ;  "  th'  lad  have  the 
head  uv  a  man  above  his  slender  shoulders,  an' 
Pat  Connor's  boy  can  be  trusted,  do  ye  mind 
that?" 

"  And  I  '11  be  responsible  for  Tommy  Mc 
Guire,"  said  the  agent,  looking  at  the  father  of 
the  freckled  youth. 

"  He  's  a  tough  kid  that,"  said  the  road- 
master,  "wud  all  jew  respect  to  his  mother." 
"  Leave  him  to  me,"  said  the  station-master, 
"  he  's  no  whit  tougher  than  I  was  at  his  age." 
When  Tincher,  the  agent's  under-study,  went 
out  to  look  for  Tommy,  to  apprise  him  of  what 
he  had  overheard,  the  boy  was  not  to  be  seen. 
Of  course  he  could  not  be  expected  to  sit 
quietly  in  the  sun  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  he  had 
not.  He  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  grain 
elevator,  he  had  mixed  salt  with  U.  P.  Burns's 


1 6  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

tobacco,  and  pinned  a  "  lost  "  notice  to  his 
father's  coat  that  hung  on  the  handle-bar  of  the 
hand  car.  Then  he  had  scattered  shelled  corn 
for  the  miller's  pigs.  He  had  discovered  the 
agent's  marking  pot,  and  was  now  lying  flat  on 
his  stomach,  reaching  over  the  edge  of  the  plat 
form,  making  zebras  of  all  the  white  pigs  in  the 
drove. 

The  widow  laughed  and  cried  when  Tommy 
told  her  how  it  had  all  been  arranged,  and 
Tommy's  mother,  to  his  surprise,  actually  kissed 
him.  Even  Denis  McGuire  was  able  to  feel  a 
pardonable  pride  in  the  boy.  Mrs.  Button  said 
she  was  glad  to  "  see  th'  brat  thryen  to  make 
suthen  uv  hissilf."  The  priest  promised  to  pray 
for  him.  "  I  '11  stand  good  for  him  here,  father," 
the  agent  had  said  to  the  priest,  "  if  you  '11 
stand  good  hereafter,"  and  the  priest  had 
promised. 

The  first  day  was  all  too  short  for  Tommy, 
though  sad  enough  for  Jack.  By  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  the  tank  was  full  and  the  mule 
turned  out  to  graze. 

Mr.  Collins,  the  foreman  of  the  bridge  carpen- 


SLEEPING   OUT  I  7 

ters,  had  built  a  bunk  in  the  little  shanty,  and 
Mrs.  McGuire  and  the  widow  had  come  down 
to  fix  the  bed  for  Tommy.  The  enthusiastic 
boy  gave  Jack  little  time  to  hug  his  grief,  but 
kept  talking  of  the  future,  of  their  importance  to 
the  company  and  to  Jack's  family.  His  plans 
were  not  quite  perfect  in  his  own  mind,  but  he 
felt  that  in  some  way  he  must  contribute  to  the 
support  of  the  widow's  family.  He  had  no  need 
of  money  for  himself.  He  had  never  had  any 
or  cared  to  have,  unless  it  would  be  to  buy  a 
target  rifle  like  Anderson's  boy  had,  or  maybe 
some  firecrackers  for  the  Fourth,  and  for 
Christmas.  But  poor  little  Jack  would  not 
enthuse.  As  often  as  Tommy  looked  up  he 
found  his  companion  staring  at  him  as  if  half 
afraid. 

"Whatcher  skeered  about,  Jack  Connor?" 
demanded  Tommy,  boxing  the  boy's  cap 
off. 

"When  ye  goin'  to  bed?"  asked  Jack,  his 
wild  eyes  growing  wider  as  he  pictured  to  him 
self  the  loneliness  of  the  place  when  Tommy 
should  go  to  sleep. 

"  Aw,  shucks,"  said  Tommy,  "  I  'm  not  goin' 


1 8  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

t*  bed  at  all ;  come  outside  an'  le's  build  a  bon 
fire  to  keep  th'  skeeters  off." 

They  made  such  a  fire  of  dry  brush  and  drift 
wood  that  when  the  Midnight  Express  came 
round  the  curve  at  Hagler's  tank  the  engineer 
thought  the  bridge  was  burning,  and  shut  off. 
But  a  moment  later  little  Jack  was  at  the  end 
of  the  bridge  moving  the  white  light  up  and 
down,  as  he  had  seen  his  father  do,  and  the 
driver  opened  the  throttle  again.  Despite 
the  fact  that  Tommy  was  close  behind  him,  the 
timid  boy  began  to  tremble  and  draw  back  as 
the  headlight  glared  in  his  face.  Tommy  seized 
the  signal  lamp  and  stood  smiling  in  the  face 
of  the  driver  as  the  great  engine  struck  the 
bridge  and  roared  past,  shaking  the  earth  for 
rods  around.  Away  the  wild  steed  went,  out 
toward  the  morning.  She  had  started  fresh 
and  clean  from  the  Mississippi,  she  would  slake, 
for  a  brief  moment,  her  burning  thirst  at  the 
Ambraw,  and  at  dawn  drink  of  the  waters  of 
the  Wabash. 

When  the  red  lights  on  the  rear  of  the  flying 
train  had  drawn  close  together  and  finally 
dropped  over  the  bridge,  Tommy  turned  to 


SLEEPING  OUT  19 

find  little  Jack  crouching   at  the  door  of  the 
shanty. 

"  'Smarter  uv  you,  Jack  Connor?  "  demanded 
the  freckled  boy.  "Guess  I  better  tie  you 
under  th'  bridge  till  yo'  git  ust  to  the  cars." 

They  put  the  white  light  down  on  the  floor, 
and  began  to  practise  their  writing  lesson ; 
learning  to  write  their  names  so  they  could  sign 
the  pay  rolls  when  the  car  came  up  the  road 
again.  Tommy  started  to  sing,  "  The  Hat  Me 
Father  Wore,"  but  remembering  suddenly  that 
this  was  the  only  song  Jimmie  Connor  had  ever 
tried  to  sing,  he  changed  off  to  "  Jerry  He  the 
Kayre,"  - 

"  Wid  a  big  soljer  coat 
Buttoned  up  to  me  troat, 

All  danger  I  would  dare  ;" 
Thin  jint  ahead  an'  cinter  back ; 
Oh !  Jerry  go  ile  th'  Kayre." 

But  try  as  he  would  Tommy  could  not  keep 
the  clouds  away  from  the  face  of  his  friend. 
The  poor  lad  seemed  half  dazed  by  the  dread 
ful  scenes  through  which  he  had  passed.  It 
was  nearly  morning.  The  bonfire  had  burned 
down  to  gray  ashes,  and  the  boys  were  sleepy. 

Tommy   took   the   red  light,   shook   it,   and 


2O  THE    WHITE    MAIL 

turned  it  up.  A  lost  dog  over  by  the  saw-mill 
set  up  that  awful  unearthly  howl  that  boys  are 
wont  to  connect  in  some  way  with  abandoned 
farms  and  funerals.  A  hoot-owl  hooted  on  the 
top  of  the  tank,  and  little  Jack  began  to  cry. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    FLOOD 

WHEN  the  White  Mail  came  out  of  the 
east,  carrying  signals  for  the  sun  on 
the  following  morning,  the  driver  looked  down 
on  a  pair  of  very  dirty  faces  at  the  end  of  West 
Creek  bridge.  The  white  flag  fluttered  in  the 
morning  breeze,  and  little  Jack's  arm  shook  like 
an  aspen  branch  as  the  big  engine  struck  the 
bridge  and  thundered  by.  Tommy,  who  feared 
nothing,  day  or  night,  stood  near  him,  pushing 
him  encouragingly  as  he  shrank  from  the  flying 
train.  When  they  had  walked  across  the  bridge 
and  back,  to  see  that  no  sparks  had  fallen  from 
the  quivering  ash-pan,  they  returned  to  the 
pump.  The  old  mule  had  been  harnessed  be 
fore  it  was  light,  from  the  new  platform  that 
Tommy  had  designed  and  the  boss  carpenter 
had  built.  He  had  stopped  short  and  fallen 
dead  asleep  the  moment  the  boys  left  him  to 
flag  the  fast  mail.  He  was  now  rudely  awak 
ened  by  Tommy,  who  hit  him  a  sharp  cut  with 


22  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

the  long  whip,  as  he  climbed  to  his  place  on 
the  platform. 

In  a  little  while  the  sun  came  up  over  the 
tree-tops  and  touched  the  water  tank.  Little 
Mary  Connor  came  down  the  track,  bringing 
breakfast  for  the  boys,  and  they  were  glad  to 
see  her.  When  she  had  fixed  the  plates  and 
poured  the  hot,  black  coffee  into  the  bright  tin 
cups,  she  allowed  Tommy  to  lift  her  onto  the 
platform,  where  she  encouraged  the  mule  while 
the  boys  had  breakfast. 

"  Say,  Jack,  old  man ;  this  is  great,"  said 
Tommy,  taking  a  long  pull  at  the  bracing  bev 
erage.  Jack  gave  his  companion  a  furtive 
glance,  but  deigned  no  reply  —  not  even  a  smile. 
"  Jimminy-crismus,  why  don'  yo'  eat?"  shouted 
Tommy.  Jack  was  staring  at  his  sister,  who 
looked  so  weird  and  ghost-like  in  her  black 
frock,  with  eyes  that  seemed  too  large  for  her, 
and  her  white  face  hiding  in  a  heap  of  hair. 

The  boys  were  much  refreshed  by  the  hot 
breakfast,  and  when  Tommy  helped  little  Mary 
from  the  platform  he  was  in  a  humor  to  tease 
her.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  pull  her  ear 
gently  and  to  pinch  her  cheeks,  —  to  put  life  in 


THE  FLOOD  23 


'em,  as  he  expressed  it.  Mary  smiled  and  col 
ored  slightly :  the  first  faint  flush  of  little  girl 
hood.  She  liked  Tommy,  and  he  liked  her. 
Rough  and  boisterous  with  boys,  he  was  always 
gentle  and  thoughtful  with  the  little  girls,  and 
Mary,  to  his  mind,  was  the  belle  of  Lick  Skillet. 

When  Tommy  had  helped  Mary  over  the 
bridge,  dropped  the  spaniel  into  the  water  for 
his  morning  bath,  and  shied  a  few  stones  at  the 
kingfisher  on  the  top  of  a  telegraph  pole,  he 
pushed  Jack  from  the  platform,  ordered  him  to 
bed,  and  began  to  tickle  the  mule  with  the  long 
lash.  Little  Jack  declared  that  he  was  not 
sleepy.  "  I  'm  boss  o'  th'  day  shif,  Mr.  Jack," 
said  Tommy,  "  an'  my  talk  goes,  —  you  're  th' 
night  hawk,  — •  sabe  ?  " 

Jack  went  reluctantly  to  the  bed  that  had 
been  fixed  for  the  other  boy,  but  had  not  been 
used,  and  Tommy  continued  to  larrup  the  mule 
and  watch  the  marker  crawl  down  the  figure- 
board  as  the  water  crept  toward  the  top  of  the 
tank.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  little  Jack  came 
from  the  shanty,  declaring  that  he  was  not 
sleepy. 

"Well,"  says  Tommy,  "if  yo'  won't  sleep,  yo* 


24  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

kin  work,"  and  he  gave  Jack  the  whip.  "  This 
ole  giraft  aint  had  no  breakfast,  an'  I  guess 
he  '11  want  some  time  th'  tank 's  full." 

A  half  hour  later  Tommy  returned  with  a  big 
feed  of  oats  in  a  bag.  When  he  reached  the 
west  end  of  the  bridge  he  stopped,  put  down 
the  bag,  and  made  the  woods  ring  with  his 
boyish  laughter. 

The  old  mule  was  lying  peacefully  in  the  end 
less  path,  while  little  Jack,  curled  up  like  a  bird 
dog  on  the  platform,  was  sound  asleep. 

Tommy  took  off  his  coat,  fixed  it  under 
Jack's  head  for  a  pillow,  and  then  cautiously 
wakened  the  mule.  He  dared  not  use  the  lash 
now,  but,  following  close  behind  the  mule, 
prodded  him  persistently  with  the  whip-handle. 
Round  and  round  they  went,  the  marker  crawled 
down,  the  water  up,  and  little  Jack  snored  like 
a  saw-mill. 

By  twelve  o'clock  the  big  tank  was  full  of 
water,  and  the  old  mule  was  having  his  break 
fast  and  dinner  all  at  one  feed. 

"  I  give  yo'  fair  warnin',  Mr.  Jack  Connor," 
said  Tommy,  swimming  on  his  back,  "  if  yo' 


THE  FLOOD  25 


don'  skin  off  yer  duds  an'  git  in  here  I  '11  come 
up  there  an'  trow  yo'  off  d'  bridge,  duds  an'  all." 

"I  don'  feel  like  ut,  Tommy,"  said  Jack,  «t' 
mar'  I  '11  go  in,  maby." 

Tommy  and  the  dog  took  a  few  dives  from 
the  bridge,  when  Jack,  who  had  been  standing 
guard,  shouted  to  his  companion  to  "  hustle 
on  his  duds  "  for  Mary  was  coming  down  the 
track  with  the  dinner. 

Tommy,  properly  attired,  was  waiting  at  the 
narrow  foot-bridge  that  lay  across  the  ditch 
from  the  grade  to  the  little  shanty.  He  took 
the  basket  and  the  jug  of  buttermilk,  and  Mary, 
young  as  she  was,  felt  and  appreciated  these 
little  attentions  from  the  young  gallant.  She 
spread  a  newspaper  on  the  little  pine  table  and 
put  down  the  plates. 

"  Watcher  doin'  uv  three  plates,  Mary  ? " 
asked  Jack. 

"Mamma  said  I  could  hev  dinner  wif 
you'uns,"  said  Mary,  shyly. 

"  'S  matter  uv  yo',  Jack  Connor  ?  Think 
girls  never  gits  hungry  ?  "  demanded  Tommy, 
tumbling  over  his  companion  and  rolling  him 
in  the  high  grass. 


26  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

There  was  no  fried  chicken,  no  green  peas, 
no  radishes,  nor  corn,  nor  bread  and  butter; 
there  was  nothing  —  not  even  chicken  bones  — 
when  the  banquet  was  over,  for  the  dog  had 
eaten  the  bones. 

Mary  picked  up  the  dishes  and  the  empty 
jug,  and  when  Tommy  had  climbed  up  in  the 
old  sugar  tree  to  see  if  the  young  birds  were 
out,  she  swept  the  little  shanty  and  gathered  a 
bouquet  of  wild  flowers  and  placed  them  in  a 
tomato  can  on  the  little  table. 

When  Tommy  had  helped  her  over  the 
bridge  the  boys  put  the  mule  out  to  grass. 
They  tied  his  long  reata  to  the  rope  that  hung 
from  the  water  tank  —  the  rope  the  fireman 
pulls  when  the  engine  stops  for  water  —  and 
then  sat  under  the  tank,  playing  mumblety- 
peg,  while  the  mule  regaled  himself  on  the 
luxurious  grass.  Jack  soon  grew  tired  of  the 
sport,  put  his  head  on  the  oat-bag  and  fell 
asleep.  In  a  little  while  Tommy  followed  him, 
for  they  were  exceedingly  comfortable  and  con 
tent  with  the  big  tank  full  of  water  and  their 
own  little  tanks  full  of  wholesome  food  and 
buttermilk.  They  had  scarcely  begun  to  dream, 


THE  FLOOD  27 


however,  when  an  extra  west  came  creeping  np 
over  the  ridge.  The  engineer  was  fanning 
them  down  the  long  slope  in  order  to  be  able 
to  lift  them  over  the  hill  at  Hagler's  tank,  when 
he  observed  the  old  pump  mule  slowly  crossing 
the  track  beyond  the  bridge.  He  sounded  the 
whistle  and  the  mule  stopped,  with  his  hind 
legs  not  far  from  the  outer  rail.  The  whistle 
screamed  frantically,  and  the  brakeman  climbed 
out  of  the  caboose  to  the  top  of  the  cars  to  be 
near  the  brakes  in  case  of  danger.  The  boys 
slept  peacefully  under  the  tank.  The  mule 
raised  his  head  and  looked  at  the  locomotive. 
He  had  a  placid  contempt  for  screaming  loco 
motives,  whose  very  breath  of  life  was  drawn 
from  tanks  which  he,  and  his  kind,  were  forced 
to  fill.  The  travel -worn  engine  had  ceased  its 
screaming  and  was  now  driving  madly,  and 
with  malice  aforethought,  toward  the  mule. 
At  the  last  moment  —  not  from  fear  of  the 
machine,  but  because  he  hated  it — the  mule 
moved  a  space  away.  This  move  on  the  part 
of  the  mule  tightened  the  rope  slightly,  so  that 
the  pilot  of  the  engine  picked  it  up  and 
stretched  it  across  the  front  end  of  the  flying 


28  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

locomotive.     A  moment  later  the  mule,  at  one 
end  of  the   rope,  received   a  jerk  that   turned 
him  over,  and  the  tank  valve,  at  the  other  end 
of  the  rope,  was  pulled  wide  open.     A   great 
stream  of  water,  as  big  around  as  one  of  the 
boys,  now  shot  down   against  the  side  of  the 
passing  train,  and,  rebounding,  spread  out  under 
the  tank.     The  boys,  thus  suddenly  awakened 
by  the  cold  flood,  which,  before  they  could  get 
to    their   feet,    began    to    roll   them    over  and 
almost  smothered  them,  thought  they  must  be  in 
the   midst  of  a   cloud-burst.     The   roar  of  the 
train  was  so  deafening  they   could  not  call  to 
each  other.     If  they  stood  up,  the  weight  of 
the   falling  water  knocked   them   down   again. 
When  the  train  had  gone   by  the   noise   grew 
less  terrific  and  Tommy  fought  his  way  to  the 
open  air.     A  glance  at  the  surroundings  showed 
him  what  had  happened,  and  he  hastily  dragged 
little  Jack,  drenched,  half  drowned,  and  thor 
oughly  frightened,  from  under  the  tank.     One 
end  of  the  broken  rope  had   wrapped   around 
the    water-spout    and   held   the    valve    open. 
Tommy  climbed  upon  the   tank-ladder,   extri 
cated  the  rope,  and  that  closed  the  valve. 


THE   FLOOD  2  9 


The  old  mule,  which  had  caused  all  the  trouble, 
was  hitched  up  again  and  started  'round  on  his 
endless  journey  to  put  up  the  few  hundreds  of 
barrels  of  water  that  had  been  wasted. 

Tommy  and  Jack  stretched  themselves  on 
the  platform  to  encourage  the  mule  and  dry 
their  clothes. 


CHAPTER  V 

TOMMY'S  REQUISITION 

"  Ahn  a  winter's  mornin'  whin  the  wind  was  blowin' 

At  a  staid  an'  stiddy  gai-at, 
Did  a  Kayre  sit  sail  wud  a  kayrgo  laden 

Out  of  siction  siventy-eight." 

UP.  BURNS  stopped  on  the  bridge  and 
•  cocked  his  ear.  He  knew  the  song  and 
the  singer.  It  was  U.  P.'s  day  to  walk  the 
track,  and  he  was  now  inspecting  the  bridge 
in  an  officious  manner,  not  altogether  pleasing 
to  the  young  gentlemen  who  held  themselves 
responsible  for  that  structure  —  day  and  night. 

"  Hay,  there  !  ol1  flatobacker !  "  cried 
Tommy  McGuire,  from  the  top  of  a  waving 
elm,  "  d'  yo'  know  the  trains  are  all  over-due 
this  morning?" 

"  I  know  they  're  all  on  time." 

"  I  say  they  're  all  over-due,"  insisted  the 
pump  boy. 

"  Well,  what  make  ye  tink  so,  Tommy  ?  " 

"'Cause  they  bin  out  all  night  —  ha,  ha,  ha 


TOMMY'S  REQUISITION  3! 

—  yo'le  bum;  that's  th'  time  yo'  tuck  th'  pin 
hook."  And  Tommy  climbed  still  higher  to  be 
out  of  reach  of  the  rocks  and  sticks  that  the 
track-walker  sent  up  after  him. 

This  was  the  day  following  the  "cloud 
burst  "  under  the  water- tank :  the  morrow  of 
the  second  night's  watch.  Little  Jack,  thor 
oughly  exhausted,  was  sleeping  like  a  weary 
soldier,  regardless  of  mosquitoes,  heat,  ticks, 
and  red-ants.  Tommy  had  filled  the  tank  long 
before  the  sun  came  up  over  the  tree-tops. 
The  engineers,  having  heard  of  the  struggles 
and  hardships  of  the  young  railroaders,  were 
taking  water  at  Highland  and  Hagler's  when 
ever  it  was  possible  to  do  so,  in  order  to  save 
the  water  at  Silver  Creek. 

The  stationary  engineer  at  Highland  and  the 
mule  at  Hagler's  kicked,  but  it  did  no  good. 
The  sympathy  of  the  whole  division  was  with 
the  agent's  protege  at  the  tank,  and  the  sad- 
faced  little  watchman  in  the  red  shanty  down 
by  the  river. 

Tommy  and  Mary  waited  dinner  for  nearly 
an  hour  under  the  old  elm  that  day. 

They  waited  until  Tommy  declared  that  he 


32  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

could  eat  his  whiskers,  if  he  had  any  to  eat, 
and  Jack  was  still  asleep.  At  two  o'clock  the 
watchman  came  out,  bathed  his  mosquito-bitten 
face  in  the  river,  had  dinner  —  what  was  left  of 
it  —  and  declared  himself  ready  to  relieve  his 
companion.  But  Tommy  would  not  go  to 
sleep.  He  flagged  a  work-train  and  went  up  to 
St.  Jacobs. 

"  I  want  yo'  to  write  a  request  to  the  road- 
master,"  said  Tommy. 

"Ah!  Tommy,"  said  the  agent,  "a  requi 
sition  for  supplies  so  soon  ?  " 

"Well,  things  got  t'  be  fixed  up  a  little  down 
there  'f  we  stay  on  d'  job." 

"  The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  kicker,"  said 
the  agent,  looking  down  upon  his  young  friend. 
Seeing  the  agent  with  pen  in  hand,  Tommy  led 
off,- 

"  Screen  door,  an'  skeeter  bar  on  d' 
winder." 

The  agent  wrote  it  as  nearly  as  possible  as 
Tommy  gave  the  order. 

"That's  so  Jack  kin  sleep  daytime,"  he 
explained. 

"  Very  well" 


TOMMY'S  REQUISITION  33 

"'Nother  stool  fur  d'  table.  That's  fur 
Mary  —  but  yo'  need'n  say  so.  She  brings  d' 
dinner,  an'  she  's  got  a'  eat  same  as  men." 

"Yes." 

"  New  giers  fur  d'  mule,  an'  scissors  to  cut 
his  mane  an'  tail." 

"Yes." 

"  New  oil  can.  De  mule  stepped  on  d'  ol' 
one  —  but  you  need'n  put  that  in  d'  letter  — 
tings  is  s'posed  to  wear  out  sometime." 

"Very  well." 

"  Red  flag  an'  white  flag,  red  globe  an*  a 
white  globe.  Them  's  fur  extras." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  No.  Five  gallons  signal  oil.  Might 's  well 
git  enough  while  we  're  at  it." 

"  Yes,  Tommy,"  said  the  agent,  "  but  you 
must  remember  that  all  these  supplies  will  be 
charged  up  to  you,  and  your  reign  at  the  river 
will  be  successful  or  otherwise  in  proportion  to 
the  expense  of  the  station." 

"  I  don't  quite  git  yeh,  "  said  Tommy,  eyeing 
the  agent.  "  Yo'  don't  think  fur  a  secont  'at 
I  'm  goin'  t'  put  up  fur  this  truck  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  Tommy ;  but  the  company 
3 


34  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

holds  you  responsible  for  the  property  in  your 
charge,  and  you  must  be  as  economical  —  that 
is,  as  saving  —  as  if  you  were  paying  for  them." 

Tommy  looked  troubled. 

"  Do  you  think  you  really  need  all  these 
things?"  asked  the  station-master. 

"Yes,"  said  Tommy,  positively.  He  was 
usually  positive,  one  way  or  the  other. 

"Anything  else?" 

"Well,"  said  Tommy,  thoughtfully,  "they 
ort  'o  be  a  'Merican  flag  top  'o  d'  tank  an'  df 
fort." 

"  The  company  does  n't  furnish  fireworks  or 
prepared  patriotism  for  its  employees,  Tommy, 
you  know,"  said  the  agent,  looking  seriously  at 
the  ambitious  young  official. 

"  Well,  jist  say,  after  th'  flag  business,  'at  your 
deescrishunt  or  something  'at  'ill  show  they 
don't  haf  t'  fill  that  order,"  said  Tommy,  nod 
ding  his  head  to  indicate  his  perfect  satisfaction 
with  himself. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THEY    HOIST   THE    FLAG 

WHEN  the  Highland  accommodation 
stopped  for  water,  about  a  week  after 
Tommy  had  received  the  supplies  which  he 
had  requested,  the  express  messenger  kicked 
off  a  long  bundle  marked  "  Tent,  West  Silver 
Creek  Bridge.  (D.  H.)" 

When  the  train  pulled  out  a  couple  of  Mr. 
Collins's  men  climbed  up  the  water  tank.  After 
sighting  and  measuring  for  a  while  the  men 
came  down  and  asked  :  "  Where  's  your  flag?  " 

"  We  aint  go'  no  flag,"  said  the  pump  boy. 

"Well,  we've  been  sent  here  to  put  up  a 
flag.  What's  in  that  bundle?" 

"  Tent !  "  yelled  Tommy,  after  examining 
the  tag.  "  Hully  smoke,  Jack,  we  're  goin'  t' 
have  a  tent,"  cried  he,  enthusiastically,  as  he 
began  to  cut  the  twine  about  the  bundle. 
Tommy's  eyes  widened  when  he  shook  the 
bundle  open  and  found  a  big  silk  banner  wear 
ing  the  stars  and  stripes.  "  D'  flag  !  d'  flag, 


36  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

Jack  !  "  he  cried  excitedly,  as  he  threw  the  little 
watchman  down  and  began  to  roll  him  up  in 
the  silk  that  lay  upon  the  grass. 

The  company  storekeeper  had  run  a  blue 
pencil  through  the  flag  in  Tommy's  requisition, 
and  then  headed  a  subscription  to  buy  what  the 
boy  wanted.  Every  trainman  on  the  division, 
agents,  operators,  section  men  —  in  fact,  all 
who  heard  of  the  thing,  were  eager  to  contri 
bute,  so  that  the  best  and  biggest  flag  that 
could  be  bought  and  used  in  such  a  place,  took 
less  than  half  the  money.  The  balance  was 
spent  for  red  fire  and  noise,  so  that  the  boys  at 
the  bridge,  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have 
a  holiday  —  who  knew  it  was  Sunday  once  a 
week  because  the  Highland  local  did  n't  run  — 
could  amuse  themselves  and  the  people  of  Lick 
Skillet  without  losing  any  time. 

The  following  day  was  the  Fourth,  and  the 
first  train  up  from  St.  Louis  brought  the  fire 
works.  It  was  a  great  day ;  the  biggest  in  the 
history  of  the  settlement,  and  Tommy  McGuire, 
who  had  been  stoned  and  chased,  freckled 
Tommy,  "  Onry  Tommy,"  whom  the  priest 
called  "  incourageable,"  who  had  been  voted  a 


THEY  HOIST   THE  FLAG  37 

thoroughly  worthless  boy  by  all  the  females  in 
the  community  —  save  his  mother  and  little 
Mary —  was  easily  the  captain.  And  what 
pleased  the  agent,  Tommy's  champion,  who 
had  driven  down  to  the  Skillet  to  see  the  show, 
was  the  fact  that  Tommy  wore  his  honors  easily. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  swaggerer  about  him. 
To  be  sure,  he  awed  the  other  boys,  especially 
the  farmer  boys  from  a  little  way  back,  and  he 
held  the  eyes  of  all  the  little  girls,  who  envied 
Mary  Connor,  who  was  ever  near  the  master  of 
ceremonies,  partly  because  she  felt  a  sort  of 
security  in  his  company  and  partly  from  force 
of  habit,  for  they  were  constant  companions 
now.  This  fact  did  not  escape  the  notice  of 
the  agent.  It  was  a  good  sign,  he  said,  to  see 
a  boy  throwing  a  line  out  early  in  life. 

Once,  when  the  big  flag  had  become  en 
tangled  about  the  pole,  Tommy  ran  up  the 
pump  ladder  and  over  the  roof  of  the  tank  to 
loosen  it.  Then,  to  save  time,  he  slid  down  a 
long  rope  that  reached  from  the  roof  to  within 
ten  feet  of  the  ground.  Every  one  was  watch 
ing  the  boy,  and  when  he  dropped  Mary  put 
her  hands  to  her  eyes  and  said,  "  Oh  ! "  and 


38  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

then  she  blushed  and  all  the  other  girls 
laughed. 

The  station  agent,  who,  instead  of  going  to 
St.  Louis  to  celebrate,  had  complimented  the 
community  by  his  presence,  was,  by  common 
consent,  the  guest  of  honor.  The  section  men 
brought  a  push-car  load  of  lumber  and  built  a 
big  table,  upon  which  the  Widow  Connor  and 
Mrs.  McGuire  heaped  the  best  products  of 
their  well-worked  gardens.  There  was  spring 
chicken,  butter,  and  buttermilk.  The  agent 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  table,  Tommy  at  his 
right,  and  little  Mary,  by  a  mere  accident,  at 
his  left.  In  addition  to  keeping  one  eye  on  the 
agent  and  the  other  on  Mary,  Tommy  looked 
out  for  every  one.  He  was  especially  solicitous 
for  Mrs.  Button,  who  had  given  him  the  name 
of  "  Onry  "  Tommy,  and  saw  that  her  plate  was 
kept  loaded.  He  even  expressed  a  regret  that 
the  priest  could  not  be  there  "  to  git  a  square 
once  in  his  life." 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  news  of 
the  "celebration"  at  the  bridge  had  filtered  out 
among  the  farmers  and  reached  up  to  St.  Jacobs 
and  down  to  Troy,  and  those  who  had  made  no 


THEY  HOIST  THE   FLAG  39 

arrangements  to  enjoy  the  Fourth,  came  to  the 
water  tank  that  evening  to  see  the  fireworks. 
Tommy  had  caused  the  section  men  to  lay 
boards  along  one  side  of  the  bridge,  and  when 
it  was  dark,  having  the  multitude,  to  the  num 
ber  of  two  or  three  hundred  souls,  including 
"  Anderson's  nigger,"  stationed  at  a  distance, 
he  stood  upon  the  bridge  and  burned  money. 
If  he  had  dazzled  the  youth  of  the  community, 
male  and  female,  by  day,  he  awed  them  at 
night.  Standing  there  on  the  bridge  in  a  blaze 
of  glory,  with  Mary  by  his  side,  making  it 
thunder  and  lighten,  sending  sizzling  sky 
rockets  over  the  tops  of  tall  trees,  shooting 
burning  bullets  into  the  blue  above,  Tommy 
McGuire  was  easily  the  emperor  of  Lick  Skillet, 
grand,  picturesque,  and  awful. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    LABOR    QUESTION 

AY,  Jack,  d'  roadmaster  won't  know  this 
mule,"  said  Tommy,  standing  off  and 
looking  the  animal  over.  "Mr.  Heidelberg 
says  they  's  just  one  thing  'at  looks  onryer  'n  a 
long-haired  mule,  'at 's  a  short-haired  woman. 
Women  an'  horses  should  be  trimmed  alike, 
an'  men  an'  mules." 

With  that  Tommy  put  away  his  clippers  and 
started  the  mule  on  his  circular  journey.  The 
ingenious  pump  boy  had  grown  tired  of  the 
narrow  platform  in  the  centre  of  the  circle  and 
conceived  the  idea  of  bringing  a  camp  stool 
and  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree  just  outside 
the  ring.  Immediately  the  mule  walked  to  the 
far  side  of  the  circle  and  stopped.  Tommy 
whipped  him  around  the  ring  and  tried  it  again. 
The  mule  stopped.  Now  up  to  this  point  it 
had  made  no  great  difference  where  the  boy  sat, 
but  he  would  conquer  the  mule.  He  made  a 
blind  for  the  mule's  off  eye,  so  that  he  could 


THE  LABOR  QUESTION'  4! 

not  see  the  driver  as  he  went  past,  but,  to  his 
surprise,  on  the  other  side  of  the  circle  it  was 
the  near  eye  the  mule  used.  He  changed  it. 
The  mule  went  around  to  where  he  had  been 
stopping,  stopped,  turned  his  head  until  his 
open  eye  was  brought  to  bear  upon  his  master, 
gave  a  deep  sigh,  and  settled  down  to  rest. 
Tommy  was  angry.  He  now  put  a  blind  over 
both  the  mule's  eyes,  and  the  animal  refused  to 
budge.  Tommy  gave  him  a  few  sharp  cracks 
and  gave  it  up.  He  thought  on  the  matter  a 
great  deal.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  failed 
utterly ;  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  con 
quered  ;  and  by  a  mule  !  It  was  humiliating. 
He  made  a  dummy  and  set  it  where  he  had 
been  sitting,  started  the  mule  going  and  dodged 
behind  a  sycamore  near  where  the  mule  was 
wont  to  stop.  The  animal  pulled  round  to  the 
effigy,  shied  a  little,  came  nearer,  smelled  of  it. 
snorted,  and  then  began  coolly  to  eat  the  stuff 
ing  out  of  it  —  some  wisps  of  hay  that  were 
sticking  up  out  of  the  dummy's  collar. 

Little  Jack  came  over,  saw  the  dummy,  and 
asked  what  it  was  for.  Tommy  was  loath  to 
acknowledge  his  defeat,  and  now  a  new  idea 


42  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

came  into  his  head.  "  We  '11  stan'  that  dummy 
at  d'  end  of  d'  bridge,  hang  a  white  light  on 
his  arm  an'  let  d'  Midnight  Express  go  by 
while  we  sleep,  eh  !  Jack,  old  boy?  " 

Jack  smiled. 

"  An'  say,  Jack  !  d'  you  know  we  can  give  d' 
dummy  a  lamp  fur  d'  Midnight  Express  an'  a 
flag  for  the  White  Mail  in  d'  morning  an'  sleep 
till  sun  up." 

"  An'  the  red  light,"  Jack  began,  "  how  we 
goin'  t'  fix  that,  Tommy?  S'posen  the  dummy 
wants  a  red  light  ?  " 

"  Thatso,"  said  Tommy.  "  An'  say,  Jack," 
he  added  quickly,  "  spose  d'  bridge  ketch  afire, 
is  d'  dummy  gun  to  put  it  out?  Jimminy !  " 
and  with  that  Tommy  made  a  run  at  his 
dummy,  hit  him  a  kick  in  the  ribs,  dragged 
him  to  the  bank,  and  without  more  ado  sent 
him  down  to  a  watery  grave. 

"  That 's  a  good  lesson  for  you,  Mr.  Jack 
Connor,"  said  Tommy,  taking  the  whip  and 
climbing  up  on  the  platform.  "  Do  yer  work 
yerself  an'  hold  yer  job,  an'  don't  depend  on  d' 
Union.  They  's  too  much  machinery  already 
in  th'  worl'.  U.  P.  says  the  inventor's  robbin' 


THE  LABOR   QUESTION  43 

d'  workin'  man.  Here  we  Ve  both  got  good 
jobs  an'  we  're  tryin'  to  make  a  dummy  watch  a 
bridge." 

Jack  was  thoroughly  shamed. 

"Aint  you  got  sense  miff  to  know,  Jack 
Connor,  that  if  a  dummy  'd  do,  the  company  'd 
have  a  dummy  'stead  o'  payin'  you  forty  dollars 
a  month  to  stay  here?  " 

Jack  nodded  his  head.  "  Spose  you  made  a 
dummy  an'  it  done  d'  work,  long  comes  Mr. 
Roadmaster,  sees  d'  dummy,  says  *  that 's  a 
good  thing,'  an'  you  git  d'  bounce.  No,  sir, 
when  a  fellow 's  got  a  job  he  wants  to  hold  it, 
an'  not  go  sawin'  it  off  on  an  effigy,  same  as 
soldiers  'at 's  grafted  in  d'  war  an  's  afraid  to 
fight.  There 's  a  good  lesson  fur  you,  Mr. 
Jack,"  added  Tommy :  "  Hold  yer  job  an* 
don't  bank  on  d'  Union  or  a  dummy;"  and, 
with  this  advice  Tommy  cracked  the  mule  up 
and  subsided,  with  a  countenance  fixed  and 
resolute. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LITTLE   JACK'S   PROMOTION 

I  DON'T  care  a  tinker's  dime  about  Denis 
McGuire,"  said  the  agent,  angrily,  "  but 
something  must  be  done  for  little  Jack.  He  's 
having  malaria.  Winter  will  be  coming  on  and 
he  can't  stand  a  winter  in  that  shanty." 

"  I  can  take  Jack  in  my  office  to  carry  dis 
patches,"  said  the  roadmaster;  "but  who  can 
I  put  on  the  bridge  to  watch  it  as  that  boy 
does?" 

"  There  you  are,"  replied  the  agent,  sarcasti 
cally.  "  Because  the  boy  is  faithful,  you  would 
keep  him  there  until  he  dies  and  leaves  his 
mother  utterly  helpless.  But,"  he  added  quickly 
—  for  he  was  a  good  stayer  when  he  elected 
to  stay  —  "  since  you  ask  my  advice,  I  '11  tell 
you  :  Put  Denis  McGuire  on  the  bridge  —  he  's 
a  cripple  for  life;  crippled  in  the  service  of 
this  company." 

"  I  've  told  ye,"  said  the  roadmaster,  "  that 


LITTLE   JACK'S  PROMOTION  45 

Denis  McGuire  was  barred  from  workin'  fur  the 
Vandalia  phile  I  'm  here." 

The  agent  wore  a  look  of  disgust,  as  he 
turned  to  answer  a  call. 

Presently  he  came  near  the  roadmaster,  drew 
a  chair,  and  said,  as  though  he  were  telling  a 
new,  strange  story  to  a  little  child  :  "  I  knew  a 
section  boss  once  who  let  a  flat  car  get  away  on 
the  hill  at  Collinsville  j  the  car  ran  out  on  the 
main  line,  collided  with  the  President's  private 
car,  wrecked  it  and  killed  a  trainman.  He 
was  discharged,  reinstated  after  a  few  months, 
and  is  now — " 

"  That  was  not  my  fault,"  broke  in  the  road- 
master,  "  I  sint  a  man  to  set  the  brake." 

"  Denis  McGuire  sent  a  man  to  flag,  but  — " 

"And  he  should  have  seen  the  flagman 
beyent  th'  curve  before  loadin'  th'  push  kayre." 

"And  the  gentleman  at  Collinsville  should 
have  seen  that  the  brake  was  in  working  order 
before  kicking  the  block  from  under  the  wheel 
with  his  own  brave  foot,"  said  the  agent,  nod 
ding  his  head  to  clinch  the  point. 

The  roadmaster  was  beaten  out.  Presently 
he  got  to  his  feet  and  began  walking  the  floor. 


46  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

When  the  local  freight  came  along  the  agent 
told  the  conductor  what  had  passed  between 
the  official  and  himself.  "  Hazelton,"  said  the 
agent,  "  they  won't  give  you  a  passenger  train 
because  you  're  a  good  man  on  freight.  Jim 
Law  is  no  good  as  a  freight  man  so  they  reward 
him  with  a  soft  run ;  a  thorn  for  virtue  and  a 
rose  for  vice.  Hazelton,  the  poor  should  help 
the  poor  —  speak  a  word  for  little  Jack,  the 
Hibernian  czar  goes  down  with  you  to-day." 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  Denis  McGuire, 
with  one  leg  shorter  than  the  other,  was  made 
watchman  at  Silver  Creek,  and  little  Jack  went 
to  be  messenger  boy  in  the  office  of  the  road- 
master. 

Although  loath  to  part  company  with  his  little 
friend,  Tommy  rejoiced  at  Jack's  good  luck. 
What  distressed  him  most  was  the  thought  that 
little  Mary  would  not  come  now  to  fetch  his 
dinner  and  put  fresh  flowers  in  the  old  tomato 
can. 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  stay  in  the 
shanty  nights ;  in  fact,  his  mother  wanted  his 
protection,  so  Tommy  moved  back  to  the 
McGuire  cottage  in  the  heart  of  Lick  Skillet. 


LITTLE   JACK'S  PROMOTION  47 

To  his  surprise,  Mary  continued  to  bring  his 
dinner  until  the  beginning  of  the  winter  term 
of  school,  after  which  Tommy  ate  a  cold  lunch 
or  came  home  for  his  dinner.  He  invariably 
had  the  tank  filled,  his  mule  stabled,  and  was 
up  the  road  to  meet  Mary  on  her  way  from 
school.  In  winter,  when  the  snow  was  deep, 
he  took  the  mule,  and  the  sled  that  Mr.  Collins 
had  made  for  him,  and  brought  Mary  home. 
It  was  wonderful,  the  change  that  had  come 
over  this  apparently  worthless  boy  within  a 
year.  He  could  walk  into  the  pay-car,  sign  his 
name  for  forty  dollars,  and  it  was  his,  and  he 
was  a  man,  all  but  the  whiskers,  and  he  felt 
sure  that  they  would  be  along  on  time. 

When  Jack  came  home  for  the  holidays,  with 
a  new  suit  of  store  clothes,  presents  for  his 
mother,  a  new,  warm  cloak  for  Mary,  and  fire 
crackers  for  all  the  little  boys  in  the  place,  he 
and  Tommy  had  many  a  happy  hour  together. 
East  St.  Louis  was  a  wonderful  city,  and  they 
were  building  a  great  bridge  across  the  river 
that  ran  between  the  two  towns,  as  wide  as 
Anderson's  orchard  and  as  deep  as  a  well. 
And  some  day  the  roadmaster  was  going  to 


48  THE   WHITE  MAIL 

give  Tommy  a  lay-off  and  he  was  to  visit  Jack, 
and  they  would  cross  the  great  river  on  a  steam 
boat  with  a  whistle  as  big  as  the  water  tank. 

"An'  dive  off  d'  bridge,"  broke  in  Tommy, 
enthusiastically. 


CHAPTER   IX 

TOMMY    FLAGS   THE   WHITE   MAIL 

AT  last  the  long  winter  broke,  spring  came 
back,  the  grass  grew  green  upon  the  graves 
of  the  old  watchman  and  his  son,  school  was 
out,  and  little  Mary  brought  Tommy's  dinner, 
as  she  had  done  the  summer  before. 

When  seven  o'clock  came  of  a  morning, 
Denis  McGuire  would  limp  home  and  Tommy 
would  ride  his  mule  down  the  track  behind  the 
White  Mail. 

It  had  been  raining  for  nearly  a  week,  the 
fields  were  flooded  and  the  trains  late. 

Half  of  East  St.  Louis  was  under  water,  and 
the  broad  bottoms,  seen  from  Collinsville, 
looked  like  a  vast  ocean.  For  twenty-four 
hours  both  East  and  West  Silver  Creek  had 
been  rising  rapidly.  An  extra,  taking  water 
at  the  tank,  told  McGuire  that  the  mail  was 
an  hour  late  at  Effingham,  and  McGuire  went 
home,  leaving  the  bridge  in  Tommy's  care. 
Whilst  he  was  walking  home  and  the  boy  was 
4 


50  THE   WHITE  MAIL 

riding  down  (the  mule  went  fearfully  slow  to 
work),  the  water  was  rising  fast.  As  Tommy 
came  near  the  bridge  he  noticed  that  the  water, 
in  places,  was  almost  up  to  the  ends  of  the 
ties.  Below  the  track  it  was  two  feet  lower, 
and  the  boy  sat  watching  the  boiling  flood  of 
black  water  that  was  sucking  under  the  bridge. 
Occasionally  great  logs  would  strike  against  the 
wooden  piling  and  shake  the  whole  structure. 
Tommy  was  thoroughly  alarmed  —  not  for  him 
self —  for  he  believed  himself  capable  of  swim 
ming  the  widest  river  that  ran,  but  for  the 
White  Mail  that  would  soon  come  over  the 
ridge  and  down  the  short  hill  like  falling  down 
a  well.  Suddenly,  a  great  elm  tree  that  stood 
near  the  bank  above  the  bridge  toppled  over 
into  the  stream,  drifted  crosswise  against  the 
bridge  and  lodged. 

The  roots  and  branches  of  the  huge  tree 
choked  the  channel,  other  trees  and  logs  drifted 
against  it,  and  a  great  wall  of  water  began  to 
rise  rapidly  above  the  track.  Finding  the 
outlet  clogged,  the  river  ran  swiftly  along  the 
railway,  east  and  west,  until  it  came  to 
the  bluffs.  It  backed  up  far  into  the  forest 


TOMMY  FLAGS   THE   WHITE  MAIL  51 

over  the  flat  bottoms,  grew  higher  and  heavier, 
and  the  old  bridge  began  to  tremble.  Mean 
while  the  fresh  engine  that  had  taken  the 
White  Mail  that  morning  at  Effingham  was 
quivering  across  the  great  prairies  of  Illinois. 
Pausing  to  quench  her  thirst  at  Highlands  she 
dashed  away  again  and  was  now  whistling  for 
St.  Jacobs.  A  drunken  little  Dutch  tailor, 
who  had  boarded  the  train  at  the  last  stop, 
insisted  upon  getting  off  at  St.  Jacobs. 

"  The  next  stop  is  East  St.  Louis,"  said 
Conductor  Wise,  punching  his  ticket. 

"  Veil,  eef  you  sthop  or  nit,  I  git  off  ust  de 
same,"  and,  as  the  train  whistled,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  above  the  station,  the  fool  Dutchman 
stepped  out  into  space  and  came  down  on  the 
east  end  of  the  platform. 

The  agent,  standing  in  front  of  the  station 
(it  was  a  sight  to  see  the  WThite  Mail  go  by  an 
hour  late),  saw  a  bundle  of  old  clothes  come 
rolling  swiftly  down  the  long  platform,  and 
finally  fetch  up  with  a  bump  against  the  end 
of  the  depot.  The  Dutchman  was  in  that 
bundle.  In  all  the  history  of  the  Vandalia 
Line  the  greatest  marvel  is  that  this  man  lived ; 


52  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

that  he  actually  got  up  and  asked  the  agent 
to  have  a  glass  of  beer.  So,  if  there  is  ever 
a  proper  time  for  a  man  to  become  hopelessly 
and  helplessly  inebriated,  it  would  seem  to  be 
just  before  getting  off  a  mail  train  onto  a  hard 
wood  platform  at  a  mile  a  minute. 

About  the  time  the  Dutchman  hit  the  earth, 
the  old  bridge  began  to  tremble  and  crack, 
like  the  breaking  up  of  a  hard  winter.  A 
moment  later  the  great  stringers  parted,  the 
river,  laden  with  logs  and  trees,  rushed  into 
the  opening,  and  the  bridge  was  gone. 

Even  as  Tommy  turned  his  mule  the  water 
was  running  across  the  track  between  the  ties. 
The  mule,  gladdened  by  the  prospect  of  avoid 
ing  the  pump  and  getting  back  to  the  stable, 
trotted  briskly  away,  and  finally,  by  dint  of 
much  kicking  and  thumping,  broke  into  a 
run. 

Tommy  knew  that  the  White  Mail  was  al 
most  due,  and  that  if  he  failed  to  gain  the 
ridge  before  she  pitched  over,  she  must  leap 
into  that  awful  flood,  with  all  on  board.  He 
knew  the  old  engineer,  and  how  he  ran  when 
the  Mail  was  late.  He  thought  of  the  news- 


TOMMY  FLAGS   THE   WHITE  MAIL  53 

boy,  now  a  flagman,  who  had  given  him 
picture  papers,  of  Conductor  Wise  and  his 
pretty  daughter  —  almost  as  pretty  as  Mary. 

When  he  came  to  the  road-crossing  where 
they  usually  turned  off,  the  mule  stopped. 
Tommy  reined  him  to  the  track  again  and 
urged  him  on.  He  could  almost  see  over  the 
ridge,  but  not  quite.  A  heavy  mist  was  rising 
from  the  wet  earth,  filling  the  wood  with  gray 
fog.  The  boy  glanced  back,  but  could  see 
nothing.  The  roar  of  the  river,  pouring  over 
the  grade,  grew  louder,  instead  of  fainter,  as 
he  rode  away. 

Suddenly  the  White  Mail  screamed  on  the 
ridge,  not  a  thousand  feet  from  the  mule.  In 
stantly  Tommy  reined  him  over  the  rail,  waving 
his  straw  hat  in  lieu  of  a  flag.  The  mule  moved 
slowly,  showing  contempt  for  the  train.  Until 
now,  Tommy  had  not  thought  of  his  own  life. 
He  felt  that  the  train  would  stop  —  must  stop. 
Peering  from  his  window,  the  old  engineer  saw 
something  on  the  track,  and  instantly  felt  like 
hitting  it,  for  was  he  not  already  nearly  an 
hour  late  ?  He  would  not  shut  off.  A  second 
glance  showed  him  the  rider,  dimly  through  the 


54  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

gray  mist.  Now  he  saw  the  hat  and  recognized 
the  pump  boy.  The  old  man's  heart  stood 
still  as  he  shoved  the  throttle  home,  but  it 
was  too  late,  and  Tommy  and  the  mule  went 
out  of  the  right-of-way. 

Denis  McGuire  had  seen  the  engine  strike 
the  boy  and  hurried  to  him  where  he  lay. 

His  mother  came,  and  presently  many  of 
the  neighbors,  the  trainmen,  and  some  of  the 
passengers.  His  mother  lifted  his  head  and 
held  it  in  her  lap. 

They  brought  some  water  from  the  car  and 
threw  it  in  his  face,  and  he  came  to  life  again. 
The  men  put  money  in  his  old  straw  hat ; 
the  women  kissed  him;  for  the  train  had 
stopped  with  the  nose  of  the  engine  at  the 
water-edge.  After  casting  a  pitying  glance  at 
the  remains  of  the  old  mule,  Tommy  went 
away,  walking  wabbly,  between  little  Mary  and 
his  mother. 


CHAPTER   X 

TOMMY   McGUIRE   SEES   THE   CITY 

IT  took  Tommy  McGuire  more  than  a  month 
to  recover  from  the  effect  of  his  head-end 
collision  with  the  White  Mail.  The  old  pump 
mule,  upon  whose  back  Tommy  had  hurried  to 
the  top  of  the  hill  in  the  face  of  the  flying 
train,  had  lost  his  life,  and  the  railway  com 
pany  had  lost  a  mule,  but  the  company  made 
no  complaint.  The  brave  boy,  by  warning  the 
engineer,  had  saved  the  company  the  trouble 
and  expense  of  hauling  a  heavy  engine  from 
the  bottom  of  a  very  muddy  stream,  rebuilding 
a  number  of  cars,  and  apologizing  to  the  postal 
authorities  at  Washington,  to  say  nothing  of 
costly  damage  suits.  And  the  President  of 
the  Vandalia  had  marked  the  pump  boy  at 
West  Silver  Creek  for  promotion.  He  had 
issued  orders  to  that  effect  to  his  subordinate 
officials.  All  these  interesting  facts  had  been 
made  known  to  Tommy  by  little  Mary  Connor, 
who  had  it  by  letter  from  her  brother  Jack,  the 


56  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

messenger  boy  in  the  office  of  the  roadmaster 
at  East  St.  Louis. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Tommy  should 
visit  his  friend,  little  Jack,  at  the  river,  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  and  to  that 
visit  the  pump  boy  looked  forward  with  great 
expectations. 

It  was  mid-summer  when  Tommy  boarded 
the  Highland  accommodation  one  morning  at 
St.  Jacobs.  Heidelberg,  the  agent,  had  con 
signed  him  to  the  care  of  the  conductor,  for 
none  thought  of  transportation  for  Tommy 
McGuire,  the  hero  of  Silver  Creek.  Jack  met 
him  at  the  depot  at  East  St.  Louis  and  took 
him  at  once  to  his  boarding  house.  After 
dinner  the  messenger  boy,  who  had  been  in 
the  great  city  for  nearly  a  year,  allowed  Tommy 
to  accompany  him  on  his  rounds  among  the 
various  departments  of  the  road. 

Tommy  was  surprised  to  see  the  timid  Jack 
pushing  his  way  through  crowds,  darting  across 
the  tracks  between  the  snorting  switch  engines, 
talking  back  to  the  big  policemen,  and  even 
threatening  to  thump  a  grocer's  boy  who  was 
trying  to  run  them  down. 


TOMMY  McGUIRE   SEES   THE   CITY  5  7 

After  supper  that  evening  the  boys  took  a 
ferry  and  crossed  the  great  river.  Tommy,  who 
had  found  little  to  awe  him  in  his  short  life, 
said,  looking  over-side,  that  it  was  awful.  As 
they  neared  the  west  bank  the  noise  of  the 
heavy  traffic  along  the  river  front  became 
deafening.  As  far  as  they  could  see,  up  and 
down  the  river,  there  was  nothing  but  houses, 
and  high  above  their  heads  hung  the  skeleton 
of  the  big  bridge.  Tommy  breathed  easier 
when  he  felt  the  flagging  beneath  his  feet. 
He  was  inclined  to  shrink  from  the  big  wagons 
and  heavy  drays  that  rattled  past  them  in  the 
narrow  street,  but  when  he  caught  little  Jack 
grinning  at  him,  he  determined  to  face  whatever 
came  without  flinching.  A  boy  who  had  once 
ridden  a,  mule  up  against  an  express  train  ought 
not  to  be  afraid  of  a  dray,  or  a  thousand  drays. 

When  they  had  wandered  for  an  hour,  never 
losing  sight  of  the  river  that  showed  through  the 
narrow  streets  up  as  far  as  Broadway,  Jack  be 
thought  him  of  the  spending-money  the  road- 
master  had  given  him.  Presently,  near  the 
door  of  a  little  wooden  shop,  they  saw  a  sign 
that  read : 


58  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

"  Sweet  Cider  and  Cigars." 

They  were  too  big  for  candy,  and  not  big 
enough  for  beer,  so  Jack  thought  the  sweet 
cider  sign  about  the  proper  thing. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  place,  save  the 
little  that  filtered  through  the  dirty  window 
and  fell  from  the  street  lamp  through  the 
open  door. 

The  boys  hesitated,  but  when  the  voice  of  a 
woman  called  kindly  to  them,  bidding  them 
enter,  they  stepped  inside.  Jack  called  for 
cider,  and  when  they  had  tasted  it  they  both 
said  it  was  not  cider.  They  refused  to  drink 
it,  but  both  pulled  out  their  pocket  books  and 
wanted  to  pay.  They  had  each  put  a  quarter 
on  the  little  showcase  and  the  woman  took 
both.  The  boys  waited  in  silence  for  their 
change,  and  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
snoring  of  a  man  just  behind  the  calico  cur 
tains  that  cut  the  narrow  room  eight  feet  from 
the  door. 

"  Won't  yez  have  some  candy,  boys?  "  asked 
the  woman,  sliding  the  door  in  the  show-case 
and  putting  in  a  fat  hand. 

"  No  1 "  said  Jack;  "  we  want  our  change." 


TOMMY  McGUIRE  SEES   THE   CITY          59 

"  Yez  don't  git  no  change.  Drinks  is  twenty- 
five  cents  in  this  shop." 

"  Come  on  !  les  go,"  said  Tommy. 

"  No,  yez  don't,"  said  the  woman,  stepping 
from  behind  the  low  counter  and  pushing  the 
door  shut.  "  Yez  '11  drink  what  yez  ordered 
or  I  '11  call  th'  police." 

The  boys  glanced  at  each  other.  Jack  was 
thoroughly  frightened.  Tommy  was  fighting 
mad.  "  Open  that  door,"  he  demanded.  The 
woman  laughed,  a  laugh  that  the  boys  had 
never  heard  before,  locked  the  door  and  re 
moved  the  key. 

Tommy  was  about  to  throw  himself  upon  her 
as  she  stepped  toward  the  curtains,  but  Jack 
caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Moik  !  Moik  !  I  say  Moik,  wake  up.  Come 
ahn,  ye  brute,  git  up." 

The  woman  passed  behind  the  curtains  and 
was  endeavoring  to  rouse  the  sleeping  man. 
The  place  was  quite  dark  now,  with  the  door 
shut.  The  narrow  window  panes  were  covered 
with  dust,  and  only  a  faint  ray  struggled  through 
from  a  street  lamp. 

Tommy  tried  the  door.     "  Take  hold  of  my 


60  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

shoulder,"  said  he  to  Jack,  "  and  pull  for  your 
life." 

Tommy  grasped  the  knob,  put  one  foot 
against  the  door  jamb,  and  the  two  scared  boys 
threw  themselves  back  with  all  the  strength  they 
had.  The  screws  that  held  the  lock  in  place 
must  have  been  eaten  with  rust,  or  the  wood 
rotten,  for  the  door  gave  way  and  the  boys  fell 
backward  into  the  room. 

As  they  scrambled  to  their  feet  and  rushed 
out,  the  woman  came  after  them,  calling : 
"  Police  !  police  !  "  but  the  boys  kept  on  run 
ning.  They  turned  a  corner  and  made  for  the 
river.  Once  or  twice  they  thought  they  heard 
the  heavy  boots  of  a  policeman  close  behind 
them,  but  they  never  looked  back.  They 
reached  the  river  just  as  a  ferry-boat  was  about 
to  pull  in  the  plank,  and  leaped  aboard. 

When  they  had  gained  courage  to  look  back 
they  saw  a  policeman  standing  on  the  wharf 
looking  at  the  boat.  No  doubt  he  was  looking 
at  them,  and  they  went  forward,  their  hearts 
still  beating  wildly  when  they  stepped  ashore  on 
the  Illinois  side. 

"  Les  go  home,"  said  Tommy. 


TOMMY  McGUIRE  SEES   THE   CITY          6 1 

"  Never.  Everybody  in  St.  Louis  knows  me, 
and  if  we  've  been  reco'nized  they  '11  go  right 
to  the  house  to  git  us.  We  must  not  go  home 
to-night." 

"  Well,  les  don't  stan'  here  where  they  can 
see  us,"  said  Tommy,  and  they  strolled  down 
along  the  water-edge. 

They  climbed  up  onto  an  old,  abandoned 
cart  and  watched  the  ferry-boats  come  and  go. 
They  watched  closely  for  the  caps  and  buttons 
of  police  officers  among  the  passengers  that 
passed  out  between  the  two  big  lamps  on  the 
landing. 

"  Like  as  not  they  '11  put  on  citizens'  clothes, 
or  maybe  send  detectives  after  us,  an'  you  can't 
tell  a  detective  from  anybody  else ;  sometimes 
they  dress  up  like  storekeepers  an'  sometimes 
like  tramps." 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  where  the  boys  sat  upon 
the  old  cart,  and  presently  they  saw  three  men 
coming  up  the  river,  walking  slowly  and  talking 
low. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Jack,  grasping  Tommy's 
arm,  and  hurrying  down  to  the  very  water-edge. 
They  hid  under  an  old,  abandoned  wooden 


62  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

pier  and  waited  for  the  men  to  pass  by,  for 
they  made  no  doubt  that  they  were  detec 
tives. 

"  They  must  have  seen  us,"  whispered  Jack, 
"  they  're  comin'  out  on  the  pier."  Now  the 
boys  tried  to  hold  their  breath,  for  the  men 
were  walking  silently  over  their  hiding  place, 
and  not  four  feet  above  them. 

The  three  men  sat  down  upon  one  of  the 
stringers  that  pointed  out  over  the  water. 

"  Hark  !  what 's  that?  "  said  one. 

"What's  what?  you  idiot;  you're  worse  'an 
a  two-year-old,  shyin*  at  a  fallin'  leaf." 

"  I  heard  someon'  cough." 

"  It 's  that  chicken  heart  of  yours  hittin'  your 
vest.  Close  that  fissure  in  your  face." 

"  Aw,  cheese  it,"  said  the  third  man,  "  what 's 
on  yer  mind,  Charley?  " 

"  A  whole  lot,"  said  the  severe  man,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  captain.  "  The  night  express 
is  the  proper  train,  Monday  night  the  time,  and 
Casey  Water-Tank  the  place." 

Tommy  hunched  Jack. 

"  There  's  always  a  lot  of  mail  and  express 
matter  that  accumulates  here  over  Sunday, 


TOMMY  McGUIRE  SEES   THE   CITY  63 

therefore  the  Monday  fast  express  ought  to 
be  good  picking." 

A  bareheaded  woman  came  down  to  the 
river,  looked  into  the  boiling  flood,  shivered 
and  went  away,  manifestly  determined  to  make 
one  more  effort  to  solve  the  bread  and  butter 
problem. 

When  she  had  passed  out  of  hearing,  the 
man  went  on  :  "  Jim  '11  go  to  Casey  to-morrow, 
Sunday,  and  make  his  way  to  the  tank.  Having 
the  only  decent  suit,  I'll  take  a  sleeper  for 
Indianapolis,  but  I  promise  you  I  won't  sleep. 
And  Pete,  you  white-livered  coyote,  you  '11  take 
the  blind  baggage  at  Greenup,  so  as  to  be  on 
hand  when  the  time  comes." 

"An'  how  do  we  proceed?"  asked  Jim. 

"  You  '11  be  hiding  behind  the  tank,  and  when 
the  fireman's  wrestling  with  the  spout  an'  the 
engineer's  watching  his  signals  so  as  to  place 
the  engine,  you  '11  step  quietly  aboard,  holding 
your  gun  close  to  the  engineer,  but  not  offen 
sively  close  so  as  to  enable  him  to  take  it 
away  from  you." 

"  An*  must  I  pint  it  butt  fust,  er  nozzle  fust  ? 
You  know  I  hain't  never  handled  a  gun  afore." 


64  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

"  Well,  if  you  handle  it  as  recklessly  as  you 
handle  the  English  language  you  '11  kill  the  man 
on  sight.  Well,  to  my  tale  :  Pete  will  uncouple 
the  train  the  moment  the  engineer  has  placed 
the  engine  and  wait  for  me." 

"  An'  what  '11  the  great  man  do?"  demanded 
Jim,  who  was  feeling  the  insult  to  his  grammar. 

"  The  great  man  will  herd  the  car-hands  up 
through  the  sleepers  and  into  the  day  coach, 
where  he  will  proceed  to  pacify  the  passengers. 
Having  slipped  into  his  false  face  he  will  pause 
with  his  back  to  the  door  at  the  rear  of  the  car, 
twirl  his  arsenal  playfully,  and  bid  the  multitude 
be  quiet.  For  the  further  awing  of  those  who 
may  meditate  violence  he  will  fire  three  shots  — 
bang,  bang,  bang  —  that  shall  come  like  the 
measured  thumping  of  my  lady's  heart,  when 
she  sees  a  cow.  These  pistol  shots  will  be  fol 
lowed  by  the  tinkling  sound  of  falling  glass,  for 
the  three  glims  will  have  been  doused.  And, 
by  the  same  token  you  shall  know,  O,  Jimmie, 
and  you,  my  shivering  Pete,  that  your  uncle  is 
doing  business  in  the  day  coach." 

"  An'  I  '11  come  in  wud  a  mail  sack  an'  git  de 
watches  and  diamins." 


TOMMY  McGUIRE   SEES    THE   CITY  65 

"  Watches  !  shade  of  Jesse  !  Does  Two-card 
Charley  rob  unarmed  men  and  helpless  women  ? 
You  will  devote  your  time  and  that  mite  of  gray 
matter  that  you  are  supposed  to  have  in  your 
head  to  the  parting  of  the  train." 

"S'pose  some  on'  shows  fight?" 

"  Why,  apologize  and  bow  yourself  out,  of 
course.  Oh,  Pete  !  Pete  !  I  've  tried  to  make 
something  of  you,  but  it  is  n't  in  the  wood.  It 
hurts  me  to  hint  such  a  thing,  and  yet  I  know 
the  day  will  come  when  I  must  needs  lay  violent 
hands  on  you;  kill  you,  mayhap,  and  cache 
you  in  the  waving  grass,  you  ass." 

Pete  had  stuck  a  short  pipe  into  his  mouth, 
and  now  indiscreetly  struck  a  parlor  match  and 
held  it  to  the  pipe.  The  intellectual  leader 
struck  the  pipe  and  the  match  with  his  open 
hand  and  drove  them  into  the  face  of  Pete,  and 
immediately  the  conference  broke  up. 

The  two  boys  lay  quiet  until  the  men  had 
passed  the  big  lamp  at  the  landing,  and  then 
crawled  out. 

"  Say,  Jack,"  said  Tommy,  and  the  sound  of 
his  voice  broke  the  silence    so    suddenly   that 
Jack  started  and  clutched  at  his  friend's  arm, 
5 


66  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

11  them  fellows  '11  be  hidin'  out  same  as  us,  if 
they  don't  watch  out." 

"Shall  we  tell  on  'em?" 

"  Sure  !  Aint  the  company's  business  our 
business?  " 

"Yes;  still  we  would  n't  like  to  have  some 
body  tell  on  us." 

"  But  what  have  we  done,  Jack  Connor?  We 
ordered  the  drinks  an'  paid  for  'em  —  both  of 
us." 

"  An'  pulled  the  door  down.  You  often  hear 
of  fellows  bein'  sent  up  for  breakin'  into  houses." 

"  We  did  n't  break  in  ;  we  broke  out,  to  gain 
our  freedom.  Liberty,  Heidelberg  says,  is  the 
rightful  heritage  of  American  citizens." 

Now,  the  boys,  full  of  a  great  tale,  stole  softly 
up  the  shadow  side  of  the  street,  and  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   HOLD-UP   AT    CASEY'S   TANK 

IT  was  Sunday  in  St.  Louis,  and  in  East  St. 
Louis  as  well,  but  there  was  no  rest  for  the 
officials  of  the  Vandalia  Line.  Little  Jack,  the 
messenger  boy,  and  Tommy,  the  pump  boy,  were 
being  examined  by  the  superintendent.  The 
boys  told  their  story  without  embarrassment.  A 
boy  who  has  been  messenger  for  a  year  in  the 
roadmaster's  office,  and  another  boy  who  has 
been  up  against  the  White  Mail  with  his  mule, 
when  the  Mail  was  making  little  less  than  a  mile 
a  minute,  are  not  going  to  get  rattled  when  tell 
ing  a  simple  story.  When  the  superintendent 
had  heard  that  Two- card  Charley,  Jim,  and  Pete 
were  going  to  rob  the  Midnight  Express  on 
Monday  night,  he  began  to  work  the  wire  that 
went  to  Chicago. 

Then,  as  now,  Chicago  was  the  headquarters 
of  the  famous  Watchem  Detective  Agency,  and 
the  Vandalia  wanted  a  good  detective,  right 
away,  regardless  of  expense. 


68  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

Now,  the  elder  Watchem  happened  to  be  a 
personal  friend  of  the  President  of  the  Vandalia 
Line,  and  he  would  send  none  other  than  his 
boy,  Billy,  who  had  already  made  a  world-wide 
reputation  as  a  criminal  catcher.  But  Billy  was 
away  chasing  a  bank  robber  through  the  Michi 
gan  forests,  and  could  not  be  found. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Superintendent 
grew  impatient,  but  the  head  of  the  Chicago 
agency  assured  him  that  a  detective  would 
reach  the  river  in  time  to  take  the  Midnight 
Express  on  Monday  night. 

When  the  last  train  over  the  Alton  left  Chi 
cago  that  Sunday  night,  with  no  detective  on 
board,  the  Superintendent  went  swearing  to  bed. 
When  all  the  morning  trains  pulled  out  on 
Monday,  bringing  no  help,  the  Superintendent 
said,  over  the  wire,  to  Watchem,  that  he  would 
give  the  business  to  Theil.  Whereupon,  old 
man  Watchem  reached  over  to  Indianapolis, 
touched  the  President,  and  the  President  said, 
over  the  wire,  to  the  Superintendent,  "  Leave  it 
all  to  Watchem,"  and  he  left  it,  and  sulked  in 
his  tent  the  day. 

The  Michigan  pines  were  making  long  shad- 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S    TANK          69 

ows  on  Monday  afternoon  when  Billy  Watchem 
came  to  the  lake-side  and  caught  a  wire  from 
his  father,  bidding  him  hurry  home. 

"Step  lively,"  said  Billy  to  his  burglar, 
"  you  're  not  the  only  robber  on  the  road. 
There  is  work  for  me  near  the  home  office ;  " 
and  so  the  men  made  haste. 

The  lamps  had  been  lighted  about  the  post 
office  when  young  Watchem  rushed  into  the 
office  of  the  Chicago  &  Alton  and  asked  for  a 
special  engine  to  carry  him  to  East  St.  Louis. 
In  his  haste  he  got  on  the  wrong  spur,  and 
stumbled  over  a  little,  inexpensive,  but  ex 
tremely  officious  official,  whose  business  it  is  to 
pass  upon  the  credentials  of  country  editors  and 
see  that  the  company's  advertisements  are 
properly  printed. 

"  For  whom  do  you  want  a  special?"  asked 
the  keeper  of  the  clippings. 

"  For  myself;  that 's  '  whom.'  " 

Now,  the  keeper  of  the  clippings  gave  the 
young  man  one  withering  glance,  and  turned 
away  with  a  hauteur  in  the  presence  of  which 
the  President  would  have  paled,  as  the  morning 
star  pales  before  the  rising  sun. 


70  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

At  that  moment  a  comfortable  looking  man 
stepped  from  the  elevator.  That  was  the  little 
man's  chief. 

"Hello,  Billy,"  said  the  General  Passenger 
Agent,  giving  the  young  detective  a  glad  hand, 
"  are  you  all  packed  ?  " 

"  All  packed,"  said  Billy,  glancing  at  a  hand 
grip  that  till  now  had  been  hidden  beneath  a 
fall  overcoat  that  hung  on  his  arm. 

"  Then  let  us  be  off.  We  Ve  got  a  special 
engine  and  Pullman  car  waiting  at  the  station 
for  you,"  and  the  two  men  went  down  together. 

"Now,  have  I  made  of  myself  an  ass?" 
mused  the  keeper  of  the  clippings.  "  I  would 
have  wagered  my  position  that  he  was  the  editor 
of  the  Litchfield  Lamplight,  and  he  goes  to  the 
river  by  special  train  over  our  road.  Ay,  over 
the  Alton,"  and  he  closed  his  desk  with  a  bang. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  a  mile  a  minute  to 
night,"  said  the  General  Passenger  Agent,  of 
fering  a  cigar  to  the  engineer,  as  the  slim 
eight-wheeler  moved  out  of  the  station  shed. 

As  the  car  clicked  over  the  switches,  the 
young  detective  turned  to  a  cold  lunch  that 
the  black  boy  had  builded  in  the  buffet,  for  he 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S   TANK          71 

had  not  eaten  since  morning.  He  had  scarcely 
commenced  his  meal  when  the  heavy  sleeper 
began  to  slam  her  flanges  up  against  the  rail 
and  show  him  that  she  was  rolling.  The  Alton 
was  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  western  roads, 
and  upon  this  occasion  she  would  take  her 
place  as  pace-maker  for  the  rest,  just  as  she 
had  taught  the  Atlantic  lines  the  use  of  sleep 
ing  and  dining  cars.  Indeed  it  is  here,  upon 
these  very  rails,  that  we  are  wont  to  picture 
young  Mr.  Pullman,  with  a  single  blanket  and 
a  wisp  broom,  swinging  himself  into  his  first 
sleeper,  that  was  not  his,  but  a  rented  car. 

By  the  time  young  Watchem  had  finished 
his  "  tea  "  the  roar  of  passing  towns  was  com 
ing  closer  and  closer  together.  When  the 
flying  engine  screamed  for  a  crossing,  the 
whistle  sounded  above  his  head,  and  far  away 
in  the  rear  of  his  car  a  rain  of  fire  was  falling 
in  the  furrowed  fields. 

As  well  might  the  engine  have  been  running 
light,  for  the  one  sleeper  only  served  to  steady 
her.  She  was  making  a  mile  on  a  shovel  of 
coal,  and  five  posts  on  a  single  fire. 

« What's  that?" 


72  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

"  Lexington,"  said  the  porter,  bracing  him 
self  with  a  hand  on  a  seat  at  either  side  of  the 
aisle.  "  I  tell  you,  boss,  we  're  flyin'.  Dey 
don'  mak'  no  swiftah  ingin  dan  de  nine-spot ; 
an'  ef  yo'  heah  me  shout,  dat  man  Jim  know 
how  t'  hit  'er,  too." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Bloomin'ton,  sah.  I  tell  you,  boss,  dese 
towns  am  brushin'  by  de  windahs  to-night  lak 
telegraph  poles  —  we  're  flyin',  boss,  —  flyin', 
da  's  all." 

At  a  station  where  they  took  water,  the  dis 
patcher  asked  the  engineer  if  he  could  stand 
the  strain  to  cover  the  entire  route.  They 
were  holding  the  Midnight  Express  at  the 
river.  This  was  the  most  important  train  on 
the  Van.  "Tell  him  yes,"  said  the  engineer 
to  the  operator,  as  he  opened  the  throttle. 
The  Alton  was  making  history. 

"  We  're  goin'  through,  Mickey,"  shouted 
the  engineer,  holding  his  open  watch  in  the 
thin  glare  of  light  that  shot  up  behind  the  fur 
nace  door  that  was  on  the  latch. 

"  Good  ! "  said  the  fireman,  catching  the 
enthusiasm  that  was  contagious  in  the  cab. 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEVS   TANK  73 

When  the  two  men  had  worked  so,  nervously 
alert,  for  another  hour,  they  were  drunk  with 
the  excitement  of  the  trip.  They  could  not 
talk  for  the  roar  and  roll  of  the  engine,  but 
they  could  see  each  other  in  the1  dim  light, 
and  smile  at  each  other  across  the  cab. 

As  tank  after  tank  they  passed  without  stop 
ping,  the  fireman  would  look  over  at  the 
engineer,  and  the  driver,  making  the  sign  of  a 
man  drinking  (which  means  "  water  "on  an 
engine),  would  jerk  his  thumb  over  his  shoul 
der,  and  the  fireman  would  go  back  and  sound 
the  engine  tank  and  show  the  wet  line  on  the 
shovel  handle  to  the  engineer,  and  he  would 
raise  his  right  hand  and  wriggle  his  wrist, 
which  means  "  All  right,  let  'er  go." 

Then  he  would  take  off  his  cap,  hold  his 
head  out  of  the  cab  window,  and  cool  his 
temples  in  the  dewy  twilight.  He  had  no 
thought  now  of  danger ;  not  the  faintest  appre 
ciation  of  the  risk  he  was  running.  He  would 
drive  her  so  to  the  very  edge  of  the  Mississippi, 
and,  if  the  lights  were  white,  and  the  switches 
right,  and  if  it  were  necessary,  he  would  take 
the  trackless,  tieless  skeleton  of  the  big  bridge 


74  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

that  was  being  built  over  the  broad  river. 
They  were  flying. 

The  President  of  the  C.  &  A.,  by  a  singular 
coincidence,  was  watching  at  the  Columbia 
Theatre  in  Chicago,  men  and  women  going 
'round  the  world  in  eighty  days.  "  This," 
thought  the  railway  man,  "  is  play-acting,  and 
you  can't  prove  it.  But  this,"  he  would  add, 
as  message  after  message  was  passed  into  his 
box,  "  this  play  that  the  Alton  is  putting  up  to 
night  is  the  real  thing." 

The  Midnight  Express  was  thirty  minutes 
overdue  to  leave  when  the  driver  of  the 
special,  pale  but  calm  faced,  dashed  up  to  the 
station  at  East  St.  Louis  and  brought  them  to 
a  stand  with  an  emergency  stop. 

"This  is  no  boy's  business,"  growled  the 
Superintendent,  as  he  hurried  the  young  man 
from  the  special  to  the  rear  of  the  Midnight 
Express.  "  Where  's  your  father?  " 

"  In  Chicago.     Got  any  instructions?  " 

The  Superintendent  handed  the  voyager  an 
envelope  containing  a  letter,  his  transportation, 
and  a  check  for  an  upper  berth. 

"Thank  you,"   said   the   young   man,  and, 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S    TANK  75 

ignoring  the  insult  to  his  tender  age,  he  swung 
himself  into  one  of  the  sleepers  that  were 
gliding  by. 

Side  by  side  with  the  Midnight  Express 
came  the  O.  &  M.  broad  gauge,  lumbering 
along,  her  high  wheels  climbing  the  cold  steel 
rails  that  lay  in  "  splendid  isolation,"  with  six 
feet  of  earth  between  them.  The  O.  &  M. 
Cannon  Ball  was  jealous  of  the  Midnight  Ex 
press.  In  fact  it  was  the  coming  of  the  new 
line,  with  her  narrower,  swifter  engines,  that 
caused  the  rails  of  the  O.  &  M.  to  get  together 
on  a  sensible  gauge,  that  has  since  become  a 
standard  for  American  railways.  Side  by  side 
the  two  trains  passed  the  last  lights  of  the  city, 
and  found  the  open  fields.  Of  course  there 
would  be  a  race.  Everybody  knew  that,  and 
when  the  big  engine  had  got  her  short  train 
well  under  way,  and  her  smoke  lay  across  the 
Van  Line  in  the  glare  of  the  light  of  the  Mid 
night  Express,  she  whistled  the  other  man 
ahead.  Under  these  circumstances  that  con 
stitutes  a  "  dare,"  and  no  self-respecting  en 
gineer  will  take  it.  The  Van  answered  the 
signal.  The  Express  was  a  heavy  train,  and 


76  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

before  the   driver  could   get  them  going   (he 
would  not  tear  the  fireman's  fire,  full  of  green 
coal)  he  was  looking  into  the  tail  lights  of  the 
Cannon  Ball.     Five  miles  out  the  broad  gauge 
had    reached   the    limit   of  her   speed.     The 
black  plunger  at  the  head  of  the  Night  Express 
was  hanging  at  her  flank,  as  you  have  seen  a 
farm-dog  hang  at  the  side  of  a  sow,  racing  up 
through   a  field,  with  only  a  row  of  corn  be 
tween    them.     Gradually   she    began    to   gain. 
To  the  joy  of  her  driver  and  all  of  her  passen 
gers,  she  began  to  crawl  up.     Her  headlight 
could   no   longer   be    seen    from   the   sleepers 
behind  the  Cannon  Ball  —  only  the  glare  of  it. 
Now  her  stack  stood  opposite  the  mail  car  on 
the  O.  &  M.     She  would  soon  have  the  sow  by 
the    ear.      There    was    not    a    man,    woman, 
or  child  on  either  of  the  two  trains  that  did 
not  enter  into  the   excitement  of  the   chase. 
Now  the  headlight  of  the  broad  gauge  engine 
shone  full  on  the  face  of  the  daring  driver  of 
the   Midnight  Express,  who  was  looking  back 
from  the  cab  window.     He  whistled  the  man 
ahead,    and    a   moment    later   the   Van    flyer, 
swinging  into  a  shallow  canon  near    Collins- 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S    TANK  77 

ville,  showed  her  tail  lights  to  the  Cannon 
Ball. 

Of  all  the  people  on  the  two  trains,  the  man 
who  was  to  occupy  lower  seven  and  the  man 
who  was  to  occupy  upper  seven  were  least 
interested  in  the  race.  The  former  kept  his 
thin  face,  with  its  receding  forehead,  pressed  to 
the  pane,  peering  into  the  night,  and  thinking 
wild  and  awful  thoughts. 

"  What  are  these  common  carriers  but  soul 
less  corporations,  oppressors  of  the  poor, — 
the  poor  that  are  growing  poorer,  as  the  rich 
grow  richer.  Something  is  radically  wrong. 
The  world  owes  me  a  living  and  I  mean  to 
have  it." 

These  and  many  other  thoughts  were  running 
through  the  young  man's  almost  empty  head. 
Beside  him  lay  a  copy  of  the  "  Police  Gazette  " 
and  a  small  yellow-back  branded  "  Dead  on  the 
Desert ;  "  and  when  young  Watchem,  who  held  a 
check  for  upper  seven,  saw  the  literature,  he 
guessed  that  this  must  be  Two-card  Charley,  the 
amateur  and  somewhat  theatrical  young  high 
wayman.  Noting  the  almost  expressionless  face 
and  the  nothingness  of  the  man's  physique,  the 


78  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

strong  young  detective   felt  sympathy   for  this 
would-be  criminal. 

Retiring  to  the  smoking-room  the  detective 
read  his  letter  of  instructions,  which  was  little 
more  and  no  less  than  the  story  of  how  the 
messenger  boy  and  the  pump  boy  had  over 
heard  the  three  conspirators  conspiring  to  rob 
the  Midnight  Express.  In  Pete,  the  chicken- 
hearted,  the  shrewd  detective  recognized  "  Ep 
som  Pete,"  who  had  held  up  a  stenographer 
and  burglarized  a  box  car  in  Kansas  City.  Of 
Two-card  Charley  he  knew  nothing,  save  the 
little  he  had  gathered  from  a  few  moments' 
observation.  To  begin  with,  Charley  smoked 
cigarettes  excessively,  and  that  made  him  wake 
ful  and  nervous.  He  ate  opium,  and  that 
wrecked  his  morals.  But  Jim  —  "  Cheyenne 
Jim,"  as  he  called  himself — was  a  hard  nut. 
His  knife-handle,  as  Watchem  was  well  aware, 
was  notched  for  two  Chinamen,  a  sheriff,  and  a 
Sioux.  He  was  a  coward.  All  his  men  had 
been  killed  going,  and  a  conscienceless  coward 
had  no  business  with  a  gun.  This  man  must 
be  handled  gingerly  or  somebody  would  get 
hurt. 


THE  HOLD-UP    AT  CASEY'S    TANK  79 

Presently  Charley  came  and  sat  in  the  nar 
row  smoking-room  opposite  the  detective,  but 
with  his  gaze  bent  upon  the  black  window. 

"  Charley,"  said  Watchem,  puffing  at  a  cigar 
which  he  was  attempting  to  re-light,  and  in 
stantly  Charley's  right  hand  went  back  toward 
his  pistol  pocket,  "  we  're  going  to  have  a  hard 
winter,  I  think,"  he  added,  between  puffs. 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  the  robber,  bringing  his 
hands  in  front  of  him  again,  "  you  have  me  at 
some  disadvantage." 

"  Oh,  no  !  but  I  'd  like  to  have  you  so ;  s'pose 
you  give  me  your  gun." 

Again  Charley's  hand  went  back  and  his  face 
went  chalk  white. 

"  Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast,  my  boy,"  said  the 
detective,  shoving  the  point  of  his  own  pistol 
up  to  Charley's  chin ;  "  slowly  now.  That 's  it, 
butt  first.  Now  we  can  talk." 

But  Charley  only  glared  at  the  detective  and 
refused  to  say  a  word.  He  had  read  in  the 
various  "  works,"  with  which  he  was  more  or  less 
familiar,  that  the  real  game  robber  never  gave 
up  to  a  detective. 

When  the  fresh  locomotive   that   had   been 


80  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

hooked  on  at  Effingham  had  galloped  over  the 
Ambraw  bridge  and  stopped  at  Greenup,  Epsom 
Pete  boarded  the  blind  baggage,  and  a  moment 
later  the  black  steed,  snorting  in  the  frosty 
morn,  was  dashing  away  across  Fanchers'  farm. 

The  detective  took  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  which 
he  happened  to  have  in  his  grip,  and  festooned 
them  upon  Charley's  wrists.  Stepping  out  on 
the  rear  platform  he  cut  off  a  few  feet  of  surplus 
bell  rope  that  hung  on  the  railing,  and  fettered 
Charley's  feet,  so  that  he  might  not  jump  off 
and  lose  himself. 

When  the  engineer  whistled  for  Casey  Tank 
he  cut  the  cord  and  marched  the  robber-chief 
up  through  the  train.  When  the  engine  had 
been  placed,  the  detective,  standing  on  the  rear 
end  of  the  day  coach,  fired  three  shots,  imitat 
ing  as  well  as  he  knew  how  "  the  measured 
beating  of  my  lady's  heart." 

Leaping  to  the  ground,  he  pushed  Charley 
along  in  front  of  him  until  they  came  to  Pete, 
cutting  the  coupling.  "  Come  on,  Pete,"  said 
Watchem,  and  Pete,  wondering  who  the  new 
captain  could  be,  followed  on  to  the  locomotive. 

"Speak   to   the  gentleman   on   the    engine, 


THE  HOLD-UP  AT  CASEY'S   TANK  8 1 

Charley,"  said  the  detective.  "  Call  him  off  or 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  kill  him." 

"Jim,"  said  Charley,  dramatically,  "we  have 
been  betrayed.  This  train  is  loaded  down  with 
detectives  and  deputy  sheriffs.  We  are  sur 
rounded,  drop  your  gun." 

"Just  hand  it  over  to  the  engineer,  please," 
said  Watchem.  "  There,  that 's  better.  There  's 
not  so  many  of  me  that  I  feel  like  fighting  the 
whole  band." 

"An'  now,"  said  Pete,  facing  Two-card 
Charley,  "  I.  reckon  here  's  whar'  we  'pologize 
an'  bow  ourselves  out." 


CHAPTER   XII 

McGUIRE   GOES   WEST 

HAVING  saved  the  White  Mail  from  a 
watery  grave  in  the  washout  at  West 
Silver  Creek,  and  having  also  been  instrumental 
in  preventing  the  robbery  of  the  Midnight 
Express  at  Casey's  Tank,  Tommy  McGuire, 
the  pump  boy,  was  the  most  celebrated  em 
ployee  in  the  service  of  the  Vandalia  Line. 
The  head  of  the  average  boy  would  have  been 
turned  with  so  much  attention,  but  Tommy  had 
inherited  the  democratic  simplicity  of  his  plain 
parents,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  scarcely 
perceptible  throwing  out  of  his  chest,  there 
was  no  apparent  change  in  his  mien  when  he 
stepped  from  the  train  at  St.  Jacobs  after  his 
eventful  visit  to  East  St.  Louis.  His  mother 
had  come  up  from  the  bridge  to  meet  him. 

"Ah,  Tommy,  darlint,"  she  cried,  clasping 
the  boy  in  her  arms,  "  they  do  be  afther  makin' 
a  regular  little  jude  uv  ye,  so  they  do,  so  they 
do." 


McGUIRE   GOES   WEST  83 

Tommy  kissed  his  mother,  and  put  her  from 
him  as  though  she  had  been  a  child.  He 
straightened  his  hat,  that  had  been  displaced, 
buttoned  the  top  button  on  his  store  coat,  and 
offered  his  hand  to  the  agent,  who  now  came  for 
ward  to  congratulate  the  young  hero.  It  is  to 
the  boy's  credit  that  he  invariably  colored  a  little 
when  complimented  upon  his  heroism  in  pre 
venting  the  Casey  robbery.  He  could  not  help 
recalling  the  fact  that  he  was  himself  hiding 
from  the  police  when  he  overheard  the  des 
peradoes  planning  to  hold  up  the  train.  To  be 
sure,  he  and  his  friend,  little  Jack,  had  com 
mitted  no  offence,  but  they  thought  they  had. 

Tommy  had  been  home  but  a  few  days  when 
he  was  ordered  to  report  to  the  President  of 
the  road  at  Indianapolis.  The  President  was 
favorably  impressed  by  the  boy's  modesty.  He 
sent  him  to  the  General  Passenger  Agent,  who, 
finding  that  Tommy  could  read  fairly  well,  set 
him  reading  the  newspapers,  clipping  out  and 
pasting  on  a  broad  piece  of  cardboard  the  daily 
comments  of  the  press  upon  the  road  and  its 
management.  Upon  another  card  he  pasted 
the  market  and  stock  reports,  and  upon  still 


84  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

another  the  railway  news  of  the  day,  the  name 
of  the  paper  from  which  the  cutting  came  being 
written  at  the  bottom  of  each  item.  All  this 
was  for  the  convenience  of  busy  officials. 
Tommy  was  greatly  interested  in  his  new  work, 
and  in  a  little  while  became  expert.  When  he 
opened  a  newspaper  his  eye  swept  the  page, 
and  if  there  were  a  cap.  "V"  or  an  "R"  he 
would  catch  it  almost  instantly  and  read  what 
was  said  of  the  Vandalia  or  of  railroads  in 
general.  There  is  no  work  in  the  passenger 
department  of  a  railroad  that  does  not  sharpen 
the  intellect  and  quicken  the  eye.  The  office 
of  the  General  Passenger  Agent  is  a  school  of 
itself,  and  a  boy  beginning  with  a  very  limited 
education  will  come  out  of  such  an  office  in  a 
few  years  with  an  edge  on  him  that  would  let 
him  pass  for  at  least  a  high  school  graduate. 
Tommy  read  constantly.  He  read  the  adver 
tisements  of  the  Vandalia  and  of  other  roads  as 
well,  and  made  comparisons.  He  ventured  one 
day  to  call  the  attention  of  the  Assistant  General 
Passenger  Agent  to  the  plain,  prosy  unattract- 
iveness  of  the  company's  advertising  matter. 
He  showed  the  ads.  of  a  number  of  other  lines, 


McGUIRE   GOES   WEST  85 

and  famous  soap  display  ads.,  and  suggested  a 
picture  of  the  White  Mail.  The  cut  was  made 
and  proved  very  attractive,  for  the  reason  that 
nobody  had  ever  seen  a  train  of  white  cars  in 
print  before. 

The  editorial  page  of  a  New  York  daily,  fa 
mous  then  as  now  for  its  clean  type  and  clean 
English,  attracted  the  boy's  notice,  and  he  read 
it  religiously  every  day.  The  General  Passen 
ger  Agent  remembered  distinctly  that  the  boy 
had  declared  with  characteristic  frankness  at 
their  first  meeting  that  he  "  did  n't  know  noth 
ing  about  the  passenger  business." 

He  noticed  that  the  young  man's  form  of 
speech  had  undergone  a  wonderful  change. 
This  was  due  to  the  fact  that  Tommy  McGuire 
was  remarkably  observing.  His  daily  inter 
course  was  with  the  higher  clerks  and  officials 
of  the  road.  These  men  were  his  teachers,  — 
these  and  the  great  editor  in  Nassau  Street, 
whom  he  had  never  seen. 

When  winter  and  the  dull  times  came,  the 
General  Passenger  Agent  persuaded  Tommy  to 
go  to  school.  He  objected  to  losing  so  much 
time,  but,  when  assured  that  he  could  have  his 


86  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

old  place  back  in  the  spring,  with  an  increase 
of  pay,  he  consented.  He  attended  a  little 
college  for  boys,  in  St.  Louis. 

Tommy  was  as  industrious  in  school  as  he 
had  been  in  the  office,  and  came  back  to  his 
desk  much  improved.  For  three  years  he  at 
tended  school  in  winter  and  worked  in  the 
office  of  the  General  Passenger  Agent  in  sum 
mer.  He  was  no  longer  the  office  boy,  but  the 
"  Advertising  Manager  "  for  the  passenger  de 
partment  of  the  line. 

His  friend,  little  Jack,  having  outgrown  the 
clothes  of  a  messenger  boy,  was  now  braking  on 
a  through  passenger  run,  and  so  the  boys  re 
newed  their  acquaintance.  Jack  was  also  a 
great  reader.  His  leisure  hours  were  devoted 
to  the  study  of  the  labor  problem.  He  was 
much  worried  over  the  prospects  of  the  work- 
ingman.  He  was  one  of  those  good,  misguided 
souls  who  are  ever  on  the  alert  for  a  grievance. 
Peace  appeared  to  trouble  his  mind.  "But 
what's  the  good  of  it  all?"  Tommy  would  ask. 

"Mutual  protection  to  elevate  the  general 
tone  of  the  workingman." 

"  But,  if  everybody  works  and  succeeds,  we  '11 


McGUIRE   GOES    WEST  87 

all  be  at  the  front,  Jack,  old  boy.  My  notion 
is  that  a  great  deal  depends  upon  individual 
effort." 

But  Jack  would  not  be  comforted.  He  gave 
so  much  time  and  thought  to  his  brother  brake- 
men  that  he  neglected  his  own  job.  He  would 
forget  his  flags,  and  one  night  went  out  on  the 
Midnight  Express  with  no  oil  in  his  lamps.  He 
had  been  reported  by  the  conductor,  but  the 
trainmaster,  knowing  the  sad  history  of  his 
family,  let  him  off  with  a  sharp  lecture.  But  a 
man  in  train  service  must  have  his  mind  on  his 
work,  and  so  it  fell  out  that  the  pale,  thoughtful 
Jack  forgot  to  close  the  switch  at  Greenville 
one  night,  and  put  a  fast  freight,  that  was  fol 
lowing  the  express,  in  the  ditch. 

For  that  inexcusable  carelessness  he  was  dis 
charged,  and  it  was  not  until  Tommy  had  almost 
exhausted  his  influence  at  the  general  office  that 
he  was  re-employed  as  flagman  on  a  work  train. 

Mary,  Jack's  sister,  had  written  Tommy  from 
the  convent  at  St.  Louis,  urging  him  to  help  her 
unfortunate  brother,  who  seemed  to  be  in  bad 
repute  with  the  officials,  who  apparently  had 
forgotten  that  poor  Jack  "  had  risked  his  life  " 


88  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

to  save  the  Midnight  Express  from  train  robbers 
when  a  mere  boy. 

Tommy,  remembering  the  sad  face  of  the 
girl  who  had  been  the  one  close  friend  of  his 
brief  childhood,  did  what  he  could  for  her 
brother,  but  he  would  have  done  that  without 
the  letter. 

Out  of  his  savings  Tommy  had  helped  his 
father  to  build  a  new  house  at  Silver  Creek,  and 
when  he  saw  the  old  folks  comfortably  settled 
in  it,  he  was  contented,  or  as  nearly  so  as  an 
ambitious,  aspiring  youth  looking  for  promotion 
can  be. 

Alas,  for  the  uncertainty  of  railroading ! 
Eternal  vigilance,  it  may  be  said,  is  the  price 
of  a  job.  A  man  must  so  live  and  work,  that 
when  he  leaves  one  road  another  will  be  waiting 
for  him. 

The  Vandalia  elected  a  new  President.  A 
new  General  Manager  was  appointed  and  a 
general  cleaning  out  followed. 

The  Passenger  Agent,  who  had  taken  so 
much  interest  in  Tommy,  retired  for  a  time,  and 
Tommy  determined  to  go  West  and  grow  up 
with  the  railroads  of  that  region. 


McGUIRE  GOES   WEST  89 

He  made  a  long  visit  at  St.  Jacobs,  and  found 
that  his  little  sweetheart  was  dead  to  the  world. 
She  had  taken  the  veil,  and  so  shut  herself  away 
from  the  world  that  had  ever  seemed  hard  and 
heartless  to  her. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  pride  and  a  shade  of 
sadness  that  the  agent  at  St.  Jacobs  said  good 
bye  to  his  protege,  who  boarded  the  Highland 
accommodation  with  a  heart  full  of  hope  and  a 
ticket  for  Denver. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MCGUIRE    LEARNS   TELEGRAPHY 

OMAHA  hung  out  the  first  flag  on  young 
McGuire  as  he  hurried  westward  in  the 
wake  of  the  Star  of  Empire.  Looking  far  into 
the  future  he  saw  the  necessity  of  learning  the 
language  of  the  wire  that  had  just  been  stretched 
across  the  plains.  There  were  schools  of  teleg 
raphy,  but  he  chose  the  office,  and,  having 
shown  good  letters  and  a  disposition  to  work, 
he  was  given  employment,  or  rather  an  oppor 
tunity  to  learn  the  business. 

Being  accustomed  to  office  work  he  soon 
fitted  in,  and  made  friends  with  all  the  opera 
tors,  which  helped  him  greatly.  The  present 
General  Manager  of  the  great  line  that  at  that 
time  had  just  been  opened  to  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  it  is  said,  was  one  of  the  old  employees 
who  gave  aid  and  encouragement  to  the  young 
railroader :  and  the  venerable  President  of  the 
Gould  system  in  the  West  recalls  with  pride  that 
Tom  McGuire  was  once  an  operator  in  his 


McGUIRE  LEARNS   TELEGRAPHY  91 

office  at  Omaha.  To  be  sure  there  are  many, 
many  more  who  rocked  the  cradle  of  our  hero, 
but  of  these  above  mentioned  we  know.  The 
successful  railway  man  is  often  amazed  at  the 
number  of  officials  who  "  made  him,"  just  as 
the  great  writer  is  constantly  crossing  the  trail 
of  the  man  who  "  discovered  "  him. 

When  McGuire  had  mastered  the  key  he  was 
given  a  station.  He  was  duly  appointed  station 
master,  ticket  agent,  operator,  yardmaster,  head 
switchman,  and  superintendent  of  the  windmill 
and  water  tank  at  Plainfield,  far  out  on  the 
plains. 

Carefully  and  tenderly  the  superintendent  of 
telegraph  broke  the  news  to  the  young  man  that 
he  would  have  to  sleep  in  the  depot,  and  would, 
until  some  enterprising  caterer  opened  a  hotel, 
be  obliged  to  do  his  own  cooking.  The  depot 
had  "  filled  "  walls,  the  superintendent  said,  so 
there  would  be  little  danger.  Upon  inquiry, 
the  young  man  learned  that  the  station  was 
built  of  boards,  outside  and  inside,  with  four 
inches  of  sand  between  them. 

"What 's  that  for?  "  asked  McGuire. 

"  Oh,  to  keep  out  the   cold   and  —  things. 


92  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

But  you  must  not  rely  wholly  upon  that.  You 
must  work  and  sleep  in  your  six-shooters  and 
keep  your  rifle  in  easy  reach,  day  and  night." 

McGuire  believed,  until  it  was  too  late  to 
back  out  of  an  ugly  job,  that  the  superintendent 
of  telegraph  was  only  having  fun  with  him.  . 

Three  days  later,  when  the  west-bound  pas 
senger  train  stopped  at  Plainfield,  the  new 
station  agent  stepped  off.  The  express  mes 
senger  kicked  off  a  bundle  of  bedding  and  a 
few  boxes  of  supplies,  some  flour  and  bacon, 
and  a  small  cook  stove. 

McGuire  cast  one  sweeping  glance  over 
Plainfield,  and  turning  to  the  brakeman,  asked  : 
"Where's  the  station?" 

For  answer  the  brakeman  gave  the  operator 
a  withering  look,  and  then  putting  his  gloved 
hand  upon  the  little  board  shanty  that  stood 
beside  the  track,  said  :  "  Johnny,  you  mus'  be 
goin'  bline !  here's  yer  station,  see?  right 
here." 

At  that  moment  the  train  pulled  out,  and 
when  the  station  agent  had  glanced  up  and 
down  the  track  and  out  over  the  plain  on  either 
side,  he  realized  that  the  brakeman  had  told 


McGUIRE   LEARNS   TELEGRAPHY  93 

the  truth,  for,  if  we  except  the  windmill  and  the 
water  tank,  this  was  the  only  "  improvement " 
at  Plainfield. 

Down  the  track  he  could  see  the  rear  end 
of  the  departing  train,  contracting  and  sinking 
nearer  and  nearer  to  earth.  Faint  and  far 
away  came  the  roar  of  wheels,  and  even  as  he 
looked,  the  last  car  dropped  below  the  line  of 
the  horizon,  the  sound  ceased,  and  he  listened 
for  other  sounds,  but  there  were  none.  He 
looked  longingly  to  see  some  living  thing,  but 
there  was  neither  bird  nor  beast  in  sight.  He 
glanced  along  the  level  plain  that  lay  cold  and 
gray  at  the  end  of  autumn,  but  there  was  not  a 
living,  moving  thing  upon  the  earth,  not  even 
a  snake  or  horned  toad.  A  timid  man  would 
have  been  helpless  with  fear,  but  young  Mc- 
Guire  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  who  never 
knew  that  feeling  in  the  least.  What  impressed 
him  now  was  the  unutterable  dreariness  of  the 
place.  His  whole  being  was  filled  with  a  sense 
of  loneliness,  hitherto  unknown  to  him.  Seated 
upon  one  of  the  boxes,  he  was  gazing  at  the 
ground,  when,  to  his  great  relief,  a  little  brown 
animal  with  dark  stripes  down  its  back  came 


94  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

from  under  the  shanty,  sat  on  the  end  of  a  tie, 
and  looked  at  him.  It  was  no  larger  than  a 
small  rat,  but  it  lived  and  moved,  and  it  was 
welcome.  Now,  if  this  thing  could  live  in  this 
desert  alone,  a  man  ought  to  exist,  and  the 
operator  took  heart. 

Fishing  a  key  from  his  pocket  that  had  a  tag 
upon  which  was  written  "  Plainfield,"  he  un 
locked  the  big  padlock  and  pushed  the  door 
open.  As  he  did  so  he  noticed  that  the  door, 
which  was  also  "  filled,"  and  thick  like  the 
door  of  a  refrigerator  car,  was  full  of  holes. 
Walking  'round  the  house  he  found  that  the 
outer  walls  were  perforated.  The  holes,  he 
reasoned,  must  have  been  made  by  things.  He 
remembered  that  the  superintendent  of  tele 
graph  had  said  that  the  sand  was  put  between 
the  walls  "to  keep  out  the  cold  —  and  things." 
Coming  round  to  the  door  again  he  went  in. 
The  place  had  been  occupied  before.  There 
was  a  chair  and  a  table  and  some  twisted  wire, 
but  the  telegraph  instrument  had  been  taken 
away.-  A  small  coal  stove,  red  with  rust,  stood 
on  the  floor.  The  floor  was  also  rusty.  No,  it 
was  not  rust ;  it  was  blood.  So  the  agent,  too, 


McGUIRE  LEARNS   TELEGRAPHY  95 

had  been  taken  away.  McGuire  examined  the 
walls,  and  noticed  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction 
that  none  of  the  things  had  penetrated  the 
inner  boards. 

In  a  low  lean-to  he  found  fuel,  and  con 
cluded  to  unpack  and  make  the  best  of  the 
hard  lay-out,  for  McGuire  was  not  a  quitter. 
With  a  rusty  hatchet  that  he  had  unearthed  in 
the  shed  he  began  opening  his  freight.  The 
first  long  box  contained  a  rifle,  two  six-shooters, 
and  many  rounds  of  ammunition.  Another 
held  sugar  and  coffee,  and  from  a  third  he  got 
a  neat  medicine  chest  that  contained  cotton 
bandages  and  liniment.  Scenting  the  biscuits 
and  bacon,  the  little  brown  squirrel  came  nosing 
'round  the  freight,  and  the  agent,  appreciating 
its  company,  gave  it  bits  of  cracker,  and  gained 
a  companion.  The,  first  work  of  the  operator 
was  to  examine  his  fire-arms  and  load  them. 
He  was  not  an  expert  with  a  rifle,  but  he  had 
been  three  winters  in  St.  Louis,  and  he  reasoned 
that  a  man  who  could  hit  a  snipe  on  the  wing 
with  a  shot-gun  ought  to  be  able  to  hit  a  Sioux 
on  his  door-sill  with  a  six-shooter. 

When  he  had  carried  all  his  belongings  into 


THE    WHITE  MAIL 


the  shanty  and  the  shed,  and  had  spread  his 
bedding  upon  the  hard  board  bunk,  he  sat 
down  upon  an  empty  box  to  think.  The  sun, 
big  and  red,  was  burning  down  the  west  at 
the  end  of  a  short  squaw-summer  day.  Out 
of  the  east  the  shades  of  night  came  creeping 
across  the  sea  of  sage-brush,  and  the  operator 
turned  to  contemplate  the  glory  of  the  sunset. 
When  the  red  disc  was  cut  in  half  by  the  line 
of  the  horizon,  the  lone  man  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
it  and  held  them  there.  Far  out  on  the  plain, 
a  long,  lean  animal,  that  looked  to  be  part 
sheep  and  the  rest  dog,  limped  across  the  face 
of  the  falling  sun,  and  immediately  disappeared 
in  the  gloaming. 

The  operator  entered  the  shanty,  and  in 
the  fading  light  tried  to  connect  his  instru 
ment  to  the  broken  wire  that  was  upon  the 
pine  table.  On  the  morrow  a  man  would 
come  from  Kearney  and  fix  it  for  him  ;  but 
McGuire  was  lonely.  If  he  could  talk  to 
Omaha,  two  or  three  hundred  miles  away,  the 
operator  there  would  be  company  for  him. 
He  worked  patiently  until  it  was  dark,  and 
then  lighted  his  lamp.  He  had  been  so  in- 


McGUIRB  LEARNS    TELEGRAPHY  97 

terested  in  the  wire  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
cook  supper.  He  made  coffee  and  ate  some 
crackers  and  a  short  roll  of  indefinite  meat. 
Presently  he  heard  the  roar  of  an  approaching 
train.  He  opened  the  door.  The  rails  were 
clicking  as  though  they  were  out  in  a  hail-storm. 
Now  they  began  to  sing,  and  a  moment 
later  the  fast  mail  crashed  by  and  showed  her 
tail  lights  to  the  agent  at  Plainfield.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  when  the  young  operator  got 
his  instrument  connected  and  in  shape  to  talk 
to  Omaha.  The  next  moment  brought  an 
swer  to  his  call,  and  a  great  load  was  lifted 
from  the  young  man's  mind.  He  no  longer 
felt  lonely,  for  he  could  hear  the  wire  talking 
to  him,  and  it  gave  him  courage.  He  turned 
to  the  west  and  called  up  station  after  station, 
and  they  all  answered  cheerily  and  gave  him 
welcome  over  the  wire.  The  operators  along 
the  line  knew  him  for  a  new  man,  but  they 
knew  he  was  no  coward  or  he  would  not  be 
sleeping  out  in  that  manner.  Presently,  when 
the  wire  was  free,  they  began  to  jolly  the  new 
agent.  Kearney  advised  him  to  take  off  his 
boots  when  he  went  to  bed,  so  as  to  avoid  the 
7 


98  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

chance  of  dying  with  them  on.  North  Platte 
told  him  to  put  his  hair  outside  the  door,  so 
the  Sioux  could  get  it  without  waking  him. 
"  Oh,  you  '11  like  the  place,"  said  Lincoln ; 
"good  night." 

McGuire  made  no  answer  to  these  playful 
shots.  The  situation,  from  his  point  of  view, 
was  far  from  funny. 

Having  barred  the  doors  and  placed  his  fire 
arms  within  easy  reach,  the  agent  at  Plainfield 
rolled  up  in  his  blankets  and  tried  to  sleep. 
Far  out  on  the  desert  he  heard  a  lone  wolf 
howl.  That,  thought  he,  is  the  shadow  that 
crossed  the  sun. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

STATION-MASTER   MCGUIRE 

THE  new  station-agent  at  Plainfield  saw 
the  sun  rise  on  the  morrow  of  his  first 
night  on  the  plains.  He  had  watched  it  sinking 
in  the  sage-covered  Sahara  on  the  previous 
evening  with  a  feeling  of  loneliness,  and  now 
he  welcomed  the  return  of  day  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  youthful  nature.  He  almost 
enjoyed  the  novelty  of  preparing  his  own 
breakfast,  of  bread,  bacon,  and  black  coffee. 
A  long  freight  lumbered  by,  and  the  conductor, 
hanging  low  from  the  corner  of  the  way-car, 
dropped  off  a  delay  report,  and  the  operator 
scanned  it  eagerly.  When  the  caboose  had 
dropped  from  the  horizon  he  sat  down  and 
told  Omaha  how  a  dragging  brake-beam  had 
ditched  a  car  of  ore  and  he  was  glad,  for  it 
gave  him  something  to  do  and  an  opportunity 
to  show  his  usefulness ;  but  he  did  n't  send  that 
over  the  wire.  He  busied  himself  putting 
things  to  rights  in  his  bachelor  home,  and  it 


100  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

was  noon  before  the  day  had  seemed  fairly 
begun.  When  the  west-bound  passenger  train 
came  by  the  express  car  gave  up  a  full  kit  of 
tools  to  the  station-master.  An  axe,  a  ham 
mer,  a  saw,  a  pick  and  shovel,  and  a  case  of 
eggs.  The  Union  Pacific  Company  was  liberal 
with  the  men  who  helped  them  to  open  the 
great  trail  across  the  plains,  and  helped  them 
to  keep  it  open.  McGuire  watched  the  train, 
as  he  had  watched  each  and  every  train  that 
had  come  and  gone  since  his  arrival,  until  the 
rear  car  sank  below  the  level  of  the  plain. 
When  he  prepared  his  supper  his  little  friend, 
the  ground  squirrel,  came  and  sat  in  the  door 
and  ate  crumbs.  When  the  shadows  began 
to  creep  across  the  plain  from  the  east  the 
agent  sat  by  the  door  of  his  hut  and  watched 
the  twilight  deepen  on  the  dreary  plain.  Be 
tween  him  and  the  glow  in  the  west  that 
marked  the  spot  where  the  sun  went  down,  he 
saw  the  same  gaunt  shadow  that  he  had  seen 
limping  across  the  face  of  the  sun  on  the  pre 
vious  evening.  Still  farther  away  he  saw  a 
horse  outlined  against  the  pink  sky.  Its  rider 
sat,  a  bunchy,  bareheaded  being,  that  might 


STATION-MASTER   McGUIRE  IOI 

be  half  man  and  half  bear.     The  agent  could 
make   out   that  the  horseman  wore   a  blanket 
and  feathers,   and   that  he  was  gazing  at  the 
little    station.     McGuire    had   been   aiming  at 
the  coyote  when  the  Indian  came  up  out  of 
the   west,    where    all    things    seemed   to  come 
from,   if  we   save   the  sun,  and  now,  to  show 
the  skulking  Sioux  that  he  was  armed,  he  let 
go  at  the  wolf.     It  was   a  long  shot,  but  the 
boy  had  aimed  well,  having  the  pink  sky  be 
yond,  and  the  wolf  leaped  high  and  fell  dead, 
only   a    thousand    feet    from    the    Sioux.     The 
Indian  having  marked  the  performance  of  the 
marksman,   turned    his  horse's  head  and  rode 
slowly    away  to  the  north.     The   agent   knew 
that  the  Government  troops  had  been  battling 
with  the  Sioux  over  on  Pole  Creek,  and  made 
no  doubt  that  this  was  a  scout  from  the  danger 
ous    tribe.     He    would  have    reported  the  in 
cident  to  Omaha,  but  he  was  afraid  of  being 
laughed  at  over  the  wire  by  the  other  operators 
along    the  line.     Sitting  there   in   the    twilight 
he  began  to  wonder  what  he  should  do  if  this 
Indian   came  back  with  a  few  dozen  or  a  few 
hundred    followers.     He    could    bar  the   door 


IO2  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

and  kill  a  few  while  they  stormed  the  station, 
but  when  they  had  kindled  a  fire  under  the 
shack  he  must  surely  perish  in  the  flames.  It 
was  not  a  pretty  picture,  and  he  determined 
to  go  to  work  at  once  upon  a  more  substantial 
fortification.  He  dreaded  the  dreary  darkness 
of  the  house,  and  so  sat  in  the  twilight  until 
the  gold  faded  from  the  sunset  and  the  little 
brown  mouse  went  away  to  bed.  "  God  takes 
care  of  the  little  squirrel,"  mused  McGuire, 
"  and  he  '11  take  care  of  me  as  well ;  "  and  he 
too  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  He  lay 
awake  planning  how  best  to  fortify  the  place. 
After  dwelling  upon,  and  then  dismissing, 
many  schemes,  he  decided  to  dig  a  tunnel  from 
beneath  the  floor  of  the  shed,  under  the  rail 
road  track  and  across  to  the  water  tank.  If 
the  Sioux  came  he  could  make  a  hard  fight  and 
then  take  to  the  tunnel  and  hide  in  the  tank, 
for  they  would  not  be  apt  to  burn  that,  having 
their  eyes  upon  the  burning  station,  watching 
for  the  agent  to  come  out  and  be  killed.  His 
first  plan  was  to  dig  out  the  tunnel  without 
disturbing  the  surface  of  the  ground,  but  that 
would  take  too  long.  He  would  work  from 


STATION-MASTER   McGUIRE  103 

the  top,  making  a  short  section  each  day  and 
covering  the  ditch  over  with  boards  and  dirt 
as  he  went  along,  so  that  if  any  Sioux  should 
come  scouting  about  they  might  not  know  of 
the  tunnel.  Away  off  to  the  west  he  heard  a 
wolf  howl..  The  cry  of  the  coyote  was  answered 
by  another  nearer  the  station,  and  by  another 
and  yet  another  still  farther  away.  Presently 
he  heard  a  low  scratching  on  the  outer  shed 
door,  and,  after  a  long  time,  he  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  was  shining  when  the  agent  woke. 
The  brown  squirrel  was  sitting  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  waiting  for  his  breakfast. 

When  McGuire  had  made  breakfast  the 
squirrel  came  and  ate  from  the  agent's  hand. 
Having  finished  his  morning  meal  and  reported 
the  through  freight  on  time,  the  station-master 
got  out  his  pick  and  shovel  and  began  his 
tunnel.  First  he  made  a  trap  door  in  the  floor 
of  the  shed  and  excavated  a  place  to  drop 
into.  Going  out  he  measured  off  the  distance 
to  the  tank.  It  was  sixty  feet,  and  he  set  him 
self  the  task  of  doing  twenty  feet  a  day  and 
covering  up  the  sign. 


IO4  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

On  the  second  morning  he  was  stiff  and 
lame,  and  his  hands  were  so  sore  that  he  could 
scarcely  close  his  fingers  on  the  pick  handle, 
but  he  worked  on,  and  at  night  had  the  tunnel 
completed  under  the  track.  At  the  close  of 
the  third  day  he  went  into  the  shed,  dropped 
to  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  crawled  through, 
and  came  out  in  the  base  of  the  water  tank 
that  was  boarded  up  from  the  ground  to  the 
tank  proper.  Before  retiring  he  carried  a 
goodly  supply  of  cartridges  and  stored  them  in 
the  framework  of  the  tank  near  the  top,  and 
then  sat  down  to  watch  the  sunset.  The  same 
glory  flooded  the  west,  and  when  the  sun  was 
down  the  same  gaunt  shadows  came  and  stood 
in  the  gloaming,  only  more  of  them.  They 
had  begun  to  scent  the  food  supply  at  the 
station  and  so  grew  less  timid.  The  agent 
had  by  this  time  determined  that  it  was  only 
a  waste  of  ammunition  to  shoot  the  hungry 
brutes,  and  when  he  showed  no  fight  the 
wolves  came  so  near  that  he  could  have 
reached  them  with  a  stone.  Far  away  he 
thought  he  heard  the  roar  of  an  approaching 
train.  The  muffled  sound  grew  louder,  but 


STATION-MASTER  McGUIRE  105 

looking  where  the  two  shining  threads  of  steel 
drew  close  together,  and  dipped  down  into 
the  desert,  he  could  see  no  break  on  the 
horizon.  Sweeping  the  plain  with  his  eager 
eyes  he  saw  a  black  something  coming  out  of 
the  north-west.  It  looked  like  a  low  black 
cloud  just  rising  from  the  earth.  The  strange 
sound  grew  louder,  and  the  agent  thought  of 
the  sudden  storms  of  which  he  had  read,  but 
the  quiet  sky  gave  no  sign  of  storm.  Already 
he  could  see  a  big  star  burning  in  the  west. 
The  growling  cloud  came  nearer  with  each 
passing  moment,  but  still  lay  close  to  the 
sage-brush.  It  grew  broader  but  no  higher, 
and  in  its  wake  a  gray  fog  arose,  like  the  mist 
that  hangs  over  a  swamp  on  a  summer's 
morning.  Higher  and  higher  the  gray  cloud 
rose,  trailing  behind  the  black  one,  like  the 
smoke  from  a  locomotive.  In  a  little  while  it 
covered  the  whole  west  and  shut  out  the  light 
from  the  far  pink  sky.  The  wolves,  lifting  their 
heads,  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  advancing 
cloud.  The  darkness  deepened  as  the  roar  of 
the  cloud  increased.  The  agent,  with  his  rifle 
resting  on  his  arm,  stood  and  stared  down  the 


106  THE    WHITE    MAIL 

plain.  A  moment  later  the  head  of  the  cloud 
swept  across  the  track  just  below  the  water 
tank.  It  looked  like  a  regiment  of  cavalry 
riding  the  desert.  It  must  be  so,  for  he  could 
hear  hoofs  rattling  over  the  rails  and  cross- 
ties.  Now  the  agent  observed  that  they  were 
riderless  horses, —  horses  with  horns,  —  and  real 
ized  that  this  was  no  cloud,  but  a  band  of 
buffalo.  He  could  see  neither  the  beginning 
nor  the  end  of  the  herd,  and  raising  his  rifle 
he  began  pumping  lead  into  the  flying  band. 
With  a  great  crash  one  of  the  animals  drove  its 
head  against  the  base  of  the  water  tank  and 
then  lay  still  while  the  drove  galloped  past. 
The  roar  of  ten  thousand  feet  beating  the  des 
ert,  the  wild  snorts  of  the  wounded  brutes,  and 
the  mad  rush  of  the  flying  mass,  so  excited  the 
agent  that  he  ran  forward  firing  as  he  went  into 
the  dark  and  roaring  flood.  Presently  the 
noise  began  to  die  down,  and  the  agent,  stand 
ing  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  knew  that  the  end  had 
come  and  that  the  dark  cloud  was  vanishing 
down  the  desert. 

When  the  dust  had  fallen  McGuire  found  a 
fine  calf  that  had  driven  its  poor  head  against 


STATION-MASTER  McGUIRE  1 07 

the  tank  and  broken  its  neck.  There  was  not 
a  scratch  upon  its  hide,  so  all  his  bullets  had 
gone  wide  of  the  mark  or  had  been  carried 
away  under  the  shaggy  coats  of  the  wild  cattle. 
Here  was  fresh  meat  for  the  agent,  but  before 
he  could  remove  the  animal's  robe  the  hungry 
wolves  were  pressing  about  in  the  twilight. 
They  grew  so  bold  that  McGuire  was  obliged  to 
take  what  he  could  carry  and  fly  for  the  house. 
Before  he  could  reach  the  door  the  wolves  were 
snapping  and  fighting  over  the  feast.  Their 
howls  and  cries  brought  a  great  band,  and  when 
they  had  finished  with  what  was  left  outside 
they  came  clawing  at  the  shed  door,  demanding 
the  agent's  share.  It  was  many  hours  before 
he  could  find  relief  from  the  din  in  unquiet 
dreams. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    COMING   OF   THE   SIOUX 

McGUIRE  had  been  at  Plainfield  just  a 
month,  and  had  begun  to  believe  that 
the  place  was  not  so  dangerous  after  all. 
He  was  watching  the  sunset,  and  the  dark 
ness  deepening  upon  the  desert  waste  one 
evening,  when  he  saw  a  speck  upon  the 
plain  just  where  the  earth  met  the  sky.  It 
was  a  shapeless  bunch,  too  big  for  a  wolf 
and  too  small,  he  thought,  for  a  horse.  As 
he  looked  it  moved  along  the  plain  to  the 
north-west  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  gather^ 
ing  gloom.  The  agent  was  still  seated  upon  the 
box  at  the  door  of  the  depot  when  a  big  black 
bunch  showed  up  just  where  the  other  smaller 
object  had  disappeared.  Nearer  and  nearer  it 
came,  and  finally  stopped  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  station  shanty.  Two  horsemen  rode 
out  of  the  black  spot  and  approached  the  sta 
tion.  They  had  feathers  in  their  hair  and  rifles 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  SIOUX  109 

on  their  arms,  seeing  which,  the  agent  brought 
out  his  rifle  and  let  it  rest  upon  his  lap.  A 
hundred  yards  from  the  station  the  two  men 
stopped  and  called  to  the  agent  in  a  strange 
tongue,  and  when  he  made  no  reply  they  rode 
slowly  up  to  the  little  station.  They  made  sign 
for  drink,  but  the  man  stood  at  the  door  and 
shook  his  head.  They  would  eat,  but  the  agent 
refused  to  understand,  and  one  of  the  Indians 
started  to  enter  the  station.  The  agent  sprang 
inside,  slammed  the  door  and  shoved  his  rifle 
out  through  the  small  square  hole  in  the  centre 
of  the  shutter.  The  Indians  climbed  upon 
their  cayuses,  wiggled  their  heels,  and  rode 
slowly  back  to  where  the  band  was  waiting. 
McGuire  listened  at  the  shed  door,  and  in  a 
little  while  heard  the  unshod  feet  of  the  Indian 
ponies  beating  the  dusty  plain.  They  seemed 
to  have  separated,  and  were  now  galloping  to 
surround  the  station.  Peeping  through  the 
small  port-holes  the  agent  could  see  the  dark 
line  of  horses  closing  in  upon  the  little  wooden 
shanty.  Turning  to  the  key  he  called  Kearney 
and  told  them  that  he  was  being  surrounded 
by  the  Sioux.  Major  North  was  notified,  and 


110  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

started  a  company  of  scouts  for  Plainfield.  The 
operator  called  McGuire,  but  got  no  answer, 
and  all  believed  that  the  young  station-master 
had  been  killed  immediately  after  sending  his 
Macedonian  message.  McGuire  was  busy.  He 
had  opened  the  exercises  himself,  firing  first 
from  one  side  and  then  from  the  other,  to 
show  the  enemy  that  he  was  numerous  and  well 
armed.  The  Indians  returned  the  fire,  and  the 
lead  fairly  hailed  upon  the  house.  They  had 
charged  the  station,  but  some  of  the  horses 
having  been  hit  by  the  bullets  fired  from  the 
stuffed  walls,  the  Sioux  fell  back.  They  had  no 
thought,  however,  of  abandoning  the  fight,  and 
before  McGuire  had  succeeded  in  reloading 
his  fire-arms  they  charged  again.  This  time 
they  reached  the  shanty,  and,  dismounting,  beat 
upon  the  sand-filled  doors  in  a  vain  effort  to 
batter  them  down.  The  agent  had  been  almost 
panic  stricken  at  the  sound  of  the  first  volley 
that  rattled  like  rain  upon  the  boarded  sides  of 
the  little  depot,  but  now  all  feeling  of  fear  had 
left  him,  and  he  determined  to  give  a  good  ac 
count  of  himself.  Dodging  from  one  part  of  the 
building  to  another  he  kept  pouring  the  lead 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  SIOUX  III 

out  through  the  narrow  port-holes  until  the 
Indians  were  driven  away  again.  Many  were 
wounded,  some  were  dead,  and  the  rest  desper 
ate.  Leaving  their  horses  out  of  range  of  the 
agent's  rifle,  the  band  concentrated  their  efforts 
upon  the  front  door.  By  the  sound  of  the 
bullets  that  hailed  upon  the  house,  the  agent 
could  tell  that  they  were  coming  only  from  one 
direction,  and  so  kept  his  place  at  the  side  of 
the  shanty  nearest  the  track.  He  could  hear 
them  ripping  boards  from  the  framework  of 
the  water  tank,  and  with  them  beating  upon  the 
heavy  door.  Upon  the  low  table  he  had  ar 
ranged  boxes  of  cartridges  and  now  stood  in 
the  dark  room  loading  and  emptying  his  revolv 
ers.  The  noise  of  the  assault  upon  the  outer 
walls  of  the  wooden  building  became  deafening, 
and  the  horror  of  his  surroundings  almost 
chilled  the  blood  of  the  besieged ;  but  he  had 
nothing  to  hope  for  at  the  hands  of  these 
desperate  Indians,  and  so  fought  on  doggedly, 
leaving  the  rest  with  God,  the  despatcher,  and 
Major  North. 

Suddenly  they  hit  the  door  a  blow  that  shook 
the  walls  and  the  very  floor  of  the  house.    They 


112  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

had  succeeded  in  loosening  a  tie,  and  with  it 
were  ramming  the  shanty.  At  the  same  time 
the  agent  became  aware  of  smoke  in  the  station, 
and  instantly  started  for  his  tunnel.  They  had 
fired  the  shed  at  the  rear  while  assaulting  the 
front,  and  the  smoke  almost  choked  McGuire 
as  he  groped  his  way  to  the  opening.  Through 
cracks  in  the  roof  he  could  see  the  fire  eating 
its  way.  Already  the  outer  wall  had  burned 
off,  the  sand  had  fallen  out,  and  now  the  end 
of  a  cross-tie  was  driven  through  the  ceiling, 
and  fell,  amid  a  shower  of  sparks  and  burn 
ing  splinters,  upon  the  floor  at  the  agent's 
feet. 

The  front  door  now  gave  way  under  the 
heavy  blows,  but  smoke  and  flames  filled  the 
place  and  made  it  impossible  for  the  Indians 
to  enter.  As  McGuire  took  to  the  tunnel  he 
heard  the  yell  of  victory  that  went  up  from  the 
wild  band  as  the  door  fell  in. 

In  a  few  moments  McGuire,  almost  exhausted 
and  gasping  for  breath,  found  himself  in  the 
base  of  the  tank.  When  he  had  rested  himself, 
he  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  tank  and,  peeping 
from  a  small  window,  saw  the  painted  devils 


THE    COMING   OF  THE   SIOUX  113 

prancing  over  the  plain  waiting  impatiently  for 
him  to  come  from  the  burning  building.  In 
the  light  of  the  flaming  station  he  could  see 
them  plainly,  and  he  longed  to  make  targets  of 
their  feathered  heads,  but  he  feared  to  attract 
their  notice. 

As  the  flames  devoured  the  little  pine  house 
and  the  heat  grew  less  intense,  the  blood 
thirsty  band  peered  into  the  ruins,  and  when 
they  could  see  no  sign  of  the  late  occupant  of 
the  place,  began  circling  round,  searching  in  the 
sage-brush  for  the  missing  man.  Satan  seemed 
to  have  inspired  one  of  the  imps  at  this 
moment,  for,  taking  a  brand  from  the  ruined 
station,  he  ran  and  placed  it  against  the  tank. 
When  McGuire  saw  what  the  Sioux  had  done 
he  gave  him  a  shot,  and  so  published  the  secret 
of  his  hiding-place. 

The  moment  he  had  fired  he  realized  his  mis 
take,  for  when  once  they  had  discovered  him 
there  would  be  no  shadow  of  a  show  for  him. 
Those  of  the  Indians  who  had  heard  the  shot 
and  had  seen  the  Sioux  fall,  ran  about  the  tank 
looking  for  the  agent.  Presently  one  of  the 
savages  stopped  and  pointed  toward  the  top  of 
8 


114  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

the  tank.  A  great  crowd  had  now  collected,  and 
when  they  had  jabbered  about  the  dead  Indian, 
the  tank,  and  the  telegrapher  for  a  few  moments 
they  threw  up  their  guns  and  sent  a  shower  of 
shot  against  the  wooden  structure.  The  agent, 
crouching  close  to  the  water  tub,  kept  out  of 
the  way  and  held  his  fire.  Presently  he  heard 
them  batter  the  door  down.  A  moment  later 
he  knew  that  they  were  climbing  up  the  narrow 
ladder.  He  waited  at  the  top,  and  when  the 
first  feathered  head  showed  above  the  landing 
at  the  bottom  of  the  tank  proper  he  brought 
the  barrel  of  his  rifle  down  and  the  Sioux  fell 
upon  the  one  following  him,  knocking  him 
from  the  ladder,  and  so  they  all  went  tumbling 
to  the  ground.  Leaning  from  his  hiding-place, 
McGuire  emptied  a  six-shooter  into  the  con 
fused  band,  and  they  were  glad  enough  to 
escape,  dragging  their  dead  and  wounded  with 
them.  Being  sure  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
white  man,  the  Indians  determined  to  have 
him  out  at  any  cost.  While  the  major  part 
of  the  band  trained  their  guns  upon  the  tank, 
a  half-dozen  Indians  carried  fire-brands  and 
heaped  them  up  against  the  framework.  The 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   SIOUX  115 

splinters  of  the  broken  door  were  used  for 
kindling,  and  soon  the  flames  were  running  up 
the  side  of  the  tank,  lighting  up  the  plain  for 
five  hundred  yards  around. 

With  a  sinking  heart  McGuire  saw  the  semi 
circle  of  light  from  his  funeral-pyre  drive  the 
darkness  from  the  desert,  and  knew  that  in  a 
little  while  he  must  choose  between  this  burn 
ing  refuge  and  the  blood-thirsty  band  below. 
The  fight,  of  which  he  had  been  so  full  a  few 
moments  ago,  had  all  gone  out  of  him,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  lost  heart.  He 
was  so  appalled  at  the  thought  of  the  awful 
death  that  awaited  him  that  it  became  a  labor 
to  breathe.  His  limbs  grew  leaden.  His  rifle 
was  so  heavy  that  he  laid  it  down,  and,  leaning 
over  the  top  of  the  tank,  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  hair  and  was  surprised  that  it  was  tangled 
and  wet,  like  fine  grass  heavy  with  dew. 
Clasping  his  empty  hands  he  lifted  his  eyes  to 
heaven  to  ask  for  help,  but  his  glance  was 
arrested  at  the  horizon  where  a  big  star  burned 
above  the  plain.  As  he  looked  the  star  grew 
brighter,  and  he  was  reminded  of  the  story  of 
a  world  that  had  been  as  hopelessly  lost  as  he 


Il6  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

seemed  now,  when  a  star  burned  in  the  east 
and  the  world  was  saved.  Suddenly  behind 
the  star  a  yellow  light  flared,  fan-shaped,  from 
the  earth,  and  he  knew  that  the  star  was  the 
headlight  of  a  locomotive  and  the  flash  was 
from  the  furnace  where  the  fireman  was  shovel 
ling  coal  for  dear  life.  Now  the  rails  that  were 
glistening  in  the  glare  of  the  headlight  and 
bridging  the  darkness  to  the  edge  of  the 
light  of  the  burning  tank  began  to  sing,  and 
the  Indians  took  warning  and  fled  into  the 
darkness. 

"  Too  late,  too  late  !  "  said  the  captain  of  the 
scouts,  who  was  riding  in  the  cab. 

The  engineer  made  no  reply,  but  tugged  at 
the  throttle,  that  was  already  wide  open,  and 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  burning  building. 
"  That  will  do,"  he  said  to  the  fireman  as  the 
light  of  his  head-lamp  reached  the  other  light. 
He  made  a  motion  with  his  left  hand  as  of  a 
man  drinking,  and  the  fireman  put  on  the  left- 
hand  pump  to  save  the  boiler,  for  the  water 
was  low  in  the  lower  gauge. 

"  Too  late,  too  late  ! "  mused  McGuire,  as 
the  flames  climbed  to  the  top  and  a  red 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   SIOUX  I  17 

tongue  lipped  the  edge  of  the  tank  as  a  mad 
dog  laps  a  running  brook.  Until  now  he  had 
not  thought  of  trying  to  escape,  for  only  death 
had  waited  at  the  bottom,  but  seeing  the  Sioux 
hunting  cover,  he  peered  over  the  edge,  and  the 
smoke  and  flames  were  all  about  the  ladder. 
Now  the  fire  burst  through  and  the  smoke  came 
up  blinding  and  hot,  and  he  took  a  last  stand 
on  the  narrow  bridge  that  ran  over  the  top  of 
the  water  tub.  As  he  climbed  up  his  hands 
touched  the  water  in  the  tank,  which  till  now 
he  had  not  thought  of.  The  tank  was  level 
full,  and  with  his  hands  he  began  to  scoop  the 
water  out,  and  in  a  little  while  succeeded  in 
checking  the  fire  that  was  eating  round  to  the 
rear ;  but  it  was  too  far  advanced  in  front,  next 
to  the  track,  to  be  put  out  so  easily.  With  a 
great  effort  he  managed  to  reach  the  rope  that 
was  fixed  to  the  valve  in  the  bottom  of  the 
tank,  and  when  he  had  opened  it  the  great 
volume  of  water  rushed  out  and  deadened  the 
fire,  so  that  by  staying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
empty  tank  McGuire  was  able  to  survive 
until  the  captain  of  the  scouts  and  a  couple 
of  Pawnees  reached  the  top  of  the  charred 


Il8  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

structure  and  carried  him,  almost  lifeless,  into 
the  fresh  open  air. 

"  Little  emergency  runs  like  that,"  said 
the  superintendent  to  the  engineer  afterwards, 
"  make  men  appreciate  the  value  of  time." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

McGUIRE    GOES   SWITCHING 

PUEBLO  was  a  tough  town  when  the  Rio 
Grande  terminated  at  that  point.  All  the 
good  men  were  going  into  the  mountains,  for 
Leadville  was  then  sweating  silver  that  was 
worth  more  than  a  dollar  an  ounce.  To  be  sure 
there  were  always  a  few  reliable  men  who  could 
railroad,  who  knew  nothing  else,  and  would  do 
nothing  else.  There  were  Dan  Snyder,  Steve 
Riley,  Jud  Rogers,  Charlie  Barnes,  and  Silver 
smith,  old  timers  and  stayers,  whose  signals  were 
always  safe,  and  upon  these  men  the  manage 
ment  depended  to  handle  the  trains  and  hold 
the  "  stormy  "  switchmen  in  line.  It  was  at 
this  swift  outpost  on  the  edge  of  the  west  that 
Tom  McGuire  tied  up  and  asked  Jim  Williams, 
the  "  scrappy  "  yardmaster,  for  a  job,  switching 
in  the  yards. 

"Where  ye  frum?"  asked  Suicide  Dick,  the 
foreman,  cocking  his  cigar  in  one  corner  of  his 
mouth  and  then  blowing  rings  of  smoke  into 


120  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

the  twilight,  as  he  strolled  down  the  yard  with 
the  new  man. 

"  The  U.  P." 

"Umaha?" 

"Yes." 

"Know  Pat  Toohey?" 

"No." 

"  Then  yer  a  liar,  Mr.  McGuire,  ye  never  saw 
Umaha  —  gimme  that  glim." 

Now,  McGuire  had  never  been  called  a  liar. 
He  was  not  a  liar,  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  gave 
the  foreman  the  glim,  just  over  the  left  eye. 

"You  dam  farmer,"  said  Dick,  and  that  was 
all  he  said.  He  put  down  his  white  light  and 
put  up  his  hands. 

McGuire  saw  that  he  was  about  to  have  a 
fight  with  a  man  whom  he  had  known  less  than 
ten  minutes.  He  made  his  feet  firm  on  the 
coarse  gravel  and  waited.  Dick  wiped  his 
bleeding  eye  on  his  jumper  sleeve  and  looked 
for  an  opening.  McGuire  put  up  his  hands 
awkwardly. 
Dick  smiled. 

Scrappy  Jim  saw  the  men  manoeuvring  in  the 
twilight  and  signalled  a  switch-engine  back  with 


McGUIRE   GOES  SWITCHING  121 

a  rush  signal,  whirling  his  lamp  furiously  until 
the  pony  had  stopped  in  front  of  the  switch- 
shanty. 

"  Smatter?  "  demanded  fighting  John  Jones, 
leaning  from  the  cab.  He  did  not  like  the 
signal.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  carried  an 
unnecessary  amount  of  "  hurry  up."  Without 
lifting  his  eyes  to  the  cab,  Jim  stepped  aboard, 
and,  nodding  down  the  yard,  said,  "  Back  up. 
Suicide  's  touchin'  up  the  new  guy." 

Jones  opened  the  throttle  and  the  yard  en 
gine  slid  down  the  track  and  stopped  short 
where  the  trouble  was.  Dick  heard  the  engine 
and  was  glad.  He  liked  an  audience.  He 
remembered  how  the  yarclmaster  had  "  touched 
him  up  "  in  the  first  hour  of  his  first  day's  work 
for  the  company,  and  recalled  with  pride  that 
the  good  showing  he  had  made  with  Jim  had  won 
promotion.  McGuire  had  expected  that  the 
yardmaster  on  the  engine  and  the  engineer 
would  stop  the  fight,  but  he  heard  no  word 
from  them.  Only  three  suns  had  set  since  this 
pugilistic  pair  had  shut  themselves  up  in  a  box 
car  and  settled  their  own  little  differences,  and 
they  now  leaned  side  by  side  from  the  cab  win- 


122  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

dow  and  looked  with  much  interest  upon  the 
argument  that  was  about  to  take  place. 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Dick,  playfully,  and 
he  reached  for  McGuire's  face. 

"  We  ride  everything  here.  Here  comes  a 
flat  fur  a  starter,"  and  he  spanked  McGuire's 
cheek  with  his  open  hand.  "  Here  's  an  empty 
box,"  and  he  reached  for  the  other  side,  but 
McGuire's  arm  was  on  his  time. 

"  That 's  right  —  stop  'em.  Here  's  a  cripple 
for  the  rep  track,"  and  he  landed  lightly  on 
McGuire's  ribs.  "  Here  's  a  couple  loaded," 
and  he  put  his  right  and  left  hard  on  McGuire's 
chest. 

The  blows  angered  the  tenderfoot.  Dick 
was  leaping  and  dancing  about  the  unfortunate 
stranger  as  a  savage  Sioux  would  leap  about  a 
scalped  Pawnee.  "  We  '11  put  this  express  car 
in  on  the  spur,"  said  Dick  as  he  landed  a 
stinging  blow  on  the  point  of  his  opponent's 
nose.  That  insult  brought  the  blood,  and 
instantly  all  the  Irish  in  McGuire's  make-up 
came  to  the  surface.  He  was  desperate,  but 
he  knew  he  must  keep  cool.  The  foreman 
began  to  force  the  fighting.  He  talked  less 


McGUIRE  GOES  SWITCHING  123 

now,  but  fought  more.  McGuire  contented 
himself  with  stopping  the  blows  of  his  adversary, 
and  so  saved  his  wind,  which  he  had  observed 
was  a  tender  point  in  this  rare,  light  air.  Dick 
was  wearing  himself  out.  His  left  eye  was 
bleeding  and  the  blood  blinded  him  at  times. 
McGuire  would  not  wilfully  take  advantage  of 
that,  but  the  yardman  kept  him  so  busy  and 
mixed  cuts  for  him  to  such  an  extent,  that  he 
had  to  do  something. 

"  Here  's  a  gondola  loaded  with  iron  ore," 
said  Dick,  and  he  made  a  curve  with  his  left, 
which  McGuire  dodged.  Before  the  foreman 
could  recover,  McGuire  swung  his  right  on  the 
fellow's  left  ear,  and  Suicide  Dick  collapsed 
like  a  punctured  tire. 

"  That  must  'a  been  a  sleeper,"  said  Jim, 
glancing  at  Jones. 

McGuire  stood  puffing  like  a  helper  on  a 
heavy  grade,  and  waiting  for  Dick  to  get  to  his 
feet. 

The  two  men  came  from  the  engine  and 
stood  by  the  man  on  the  ground. 

Dick  lifted  his  head  and  then  sat  up.  Pres 
ently  he  got  to  his  feet,  and  when  he  could  see, 


124  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

he  picked  out  McGuire  and  offered  his  hand. 
McGuire  took  it,  and  then  Jones  offered  his 
hand,  and  then  the  yardmaster  shook  the  hand 
of  the  tenderfoot. 

Dick  walked  over  to  a  freight  engine,  opened 
the  water-cock,  and  bathed  his  bleeding  face. 

"  Wash  up,"  said  Williams,  jerking  his  thumb 
in  the  direction  of  the  freighter,  and  McGuire 
went  over  and  washed. 

"  I  want  to  pay  for  that  light  before  I  go," 
said  McGuire,  "  and  I  owe  this  man  an  apology 
for  striking  him  with  it." 

"  Huh,"  grunted  Dick. 

"Don't  git  silly,"  said  Jim. 

Dick  handed  his  lamp,  which  had  a  frosted 
stripe  near  the  top  of  the  globe,  to  McGuire, 
and  picked  up  the  bent  and  battered  frame  that 
awhile  ago  had  fallen  across  his  face. 

"Don't  I  quit?"  asked  McGuire,  glancing 
from  one  face  to  the  other. 

"  Quit !  what  do  you  quit  fur?  Did  n't  you 
win?  They  don't  nobody  quit  —  you  simply 
change  places ;  an'  when  you  lick  me  you  '11  be 
yardmaster,  an'  have  two  stripes  on  yer  glim, 
see?" 


McGUIRE   GOES  SWITCHING  125 

McGuire  could  not  reply.  He  was  utterly 
unable  to  make  these  men  out,  and  when  Jones 
had  climbed  on  to  the  engine,  he  stepped  with 
the  yardmaster  on  to  the  footboard,  Dick,  who 
was  tired,  took  a  seat  on  the  bumper  beam 
between  them,  and  the  little  switcher  trembled 
away  down  the  track  to  where  a  freight  con 
ductor  was  swearing  loudly  in  front  of  the  switch- 
shanty. 

When  the  road  had  been  extended  to  Lead- 
ville  young  McGuire,  having  attracted  the 
notice  and  won  the  respect  of  the  Superin 
tendent,  was  sent  up  to  take  charge  of  the  yards. 
Switchmen  were  scarcer  there  than  they  had 
been  at  Pueblo,  for  the  town  was  wild  and  wide 
open.  Those  who  came  to  work  in  the  yards 
were  the  toughest  of  the  tough ;  men  who  could 
not  find  employment  east  of  Denver  came  here 
to  railroad,  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
McGuire  undertook  to  improve  the  service. 
He  put  up  a  bulletin  that  said  men  must  not 
fight  on  duty,  and  that  all  switchmen  would  be 
expected  to  be  sober  when  they  reported  for 
work ;  that  trainmen  would  be  allowed  but  one 
place  of  residence,  and  that  the  caller  would 


126  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

not  look  further  than  the  address  given  for  men 
who  were  wanted. 

"  All  switchmen,"  said  Flat-wheel  Finigan, 
from  the  Texas  Pacific,  reading  the  bulletin. 
"  Now,  it 's  plain  to  me  that  that  '  all '  means 
'  Finigan,'  "  and  the  new  bulletin  was  ripped 
ruthlessly  from  the  wall  of  the  yard-house. 

If  McGtiire  discharged  a  man,  a  worse  one 
came  to  fill  the  vacancy ;  and  the  yardmaster 
became  discouraged.  He  sent  in  his  resigna 
tion,  but  no  attention  was  paid  to  it.  Nobody 
came  to  relieve  him,  and  so  he  worked  on, 
always  short-handed  and  often  alone.  Winter 
came,  and  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  get 
men  to  handle  the  company's  business.  A 
large  force  of  laborers  was  kept  constantly  at 
work  shovelling  snow  from  the  many  spurs  that 
ran  up  to  the  mines  or  down  to  the  smelters. 
Of  course  McGuire  could  only  offer  schedule 
pay  that  was  fixed  at  Denver,  and  it  was 
hard  to  get  men  to  switch  in  the  snow  for 
three  dollars  when  they  could  have  five  for 
sawing  wood  or  tending  bar. 

After  much  correspondence  the  yardmaster 
succeeded  in  having  the  pay  of  switchmen 


McGUIRE   GOES  SWITCHING  127 

raised  to  four  dollars  in  the  Leadville  yards,  and 
in  a  little  while  had  a  reasonably  sober  gang 
chasing  the  three  yard  engines  that  had  been 
sent  up  to  do  the  work  of  four. 

Things  went  fairly  well  until  the  foreman  got 
drunk  one  day,  and  had  to  be  discharged.  The 
wronged  man  went  over  to  the  Cadillac  and 
told  his  troubles  to  the  barkeeper.  His  tale 
was  overheard  by  a  lucky  miner  who  had  just 
sold  a  prospect  hole  for  ten  thousand.  This 
miner,  with  the  liberality  of  a  man  moved  by 
spirits,  proposed  that  the  two  open  a  saloon- 
restaurant.  He  would  furnish  the  money,  the 
yardman  the  experience,  nerve,  and  good-will. 
The  offer  was  accepted.  They  bought  a  store 
room  that  had  cost  six  hundred  for  sixteen,  and 
in  less  than  a  week  from  the  day  of  his  dis 
missal  the  ex-foreman  posted  the  following 
notice  above  his  front  door :  — 

"  Wanted  —  Seven  swift  biscuit  shooters,  any  sex, 
creed,  or  color  —  Wages,  six  dollars  a  day." 

Thirty  minutes  later  seven  of  McGuire's 
switchmen  were  switching  in  the  "  Green  Cafe." 

Later  one  of  the  men  went  back  and  brought 
the  foreman  from  the  yards,  who  was  installed 


128  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

as  yardmaster  in  the  new  restaurant.  The 
manager  became  the  "  G.  M.,"  and  the  talk  was 
railroad  talk  and  nothing  else. 

The  "  switch-list  "  was  not  printed,  but  was 
shown  orally  to  each  patron  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"  Ride  'em  in,  ride  'em  in,"  called  the  yard- 
master  to  a  couple  of  switchmen  who  were 
pitching  plates  of  beans  through  a  narrow  win 
dow  from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining-room. 

"Drop  the  dope  down  the  main  line;"  and 
one  of  the  men  shot  a  yellow  bowl  of  butter  on 
to  the  centre  table. 

"Sand  on  No.  i — north  spur,"  called  the 
head  waiter,  and  before  he  had  finished  a  sugar- 
bowl  was  dropped  upon  the  first  table  to  the 
right. 

"  Pull  the  pin  on  that  load  on  No.  2  south," 
yelled  the  general  manager.  The  yardmaster 
and  one  of  the  switchmen  lifted  a  fat  man  from 
the  sawdust  floor  and  put  him  in  a  back  room  to 
cool. 

"  Pancakes,  warm,  please,"  said  a  man  who 
seemed  to  be  afraid  of  being  overheard. 

"String  o'  flats  with  a  hot  box,"  called  the 
yardmaster;  and  so  it  went  from  morning  till 


McGUIRE   GOES  SWITCHING 


midnight,    and    from    midnight    till    morning 
again. 

In  the  mean  time  McGuire  worked  loyally  for 
the  company,  freezing  his  ears  and  frosting  his 
feet.  One  bitter  cold  morning  a  string  of 
empties  got  away  on  the  hill.  All  the  switch 
men,  who  were  not  switchmen  at  all,  but  who 
were  drawing  pay  under  false  pretensions, 
jumped  off  in  the  deep  snow.  McGuire  stayed 
with  the  train  and  rode  them  down.  The  agent 
at  Malta  saw  them  coming  round  the  curve  up 
toward  the  town,  and  saw  McGuire  signalling 
frantically  for  the  safety  switch,  —  a  short  spur 
that  was  put  there  to  keep  runaway  cars  from 
getting  out  on  the  main  line  on  the  time  of 
regular  trains.  That  was  a  trying  moment  for 
the  station-agent.  If  he  threw  McGuire  in  on 
the  spur  he  would  be  shot  down  the  hill  with  a 
half-dozen  freight  cars  on  top  of  him.  If  he 
let  him  out  on  to  the  main  line,  he  must  almost 
surely  collide  with  the  up-coming  passenger 
train  that  had  already  passed  Haydens  and 
could  not  be  caught  by  wire.  He  knew 
McGuire  and  liked  him.  He  was  awed  by  the 
great  courage  that  could  hold  a  single  man  on 
9 


130  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

a  runaway  train  on  such  a  hill  at  such  a  time. 
There  was  something  fine  in  the  make-up  of  a 
man  who  could  call  for  a  switch  to  wreck  him 
self  to  save  the  crew  and  passengers  on  another 
train.  The  agent  signalled  the  yardmaster  to 
get  off,  but  McGuire  shook  his  head.  The 
agent  turned  his  back,  and  McGuire  went  out 
on  the  main  line,  leaning  to  the  curve  like  a 
man  driving  a  fast  horse  on  a  circular  course. 
Below  the  station  there  was  a  short  stretch  of 
straight  track  from  which  the  wind,  blowing 
down  from  Tennessee  Pass,  had  swept  the 
snow.  The  yardmaster,  climbing  from  car  to 
car,  set  the  brakes  as  tight  as  he  could  set  them  ; 
but  the  shoes  were  covered  with  ice,  and  the 
train,  on  the  tangent,  seemed  to  be  increasing 
its  speed.  Now  they  fell  into  a  lot  of  curves. 
McGuire  began  to  guess  that  he  could  not  hold 
them  ;  but  he  could  not  get  off  now,  even  if  he 
chose  to  do  so,  for  on  one  hand  lay  the  Arkan 
sas  River  and  on  the  other  the  rock  wall  of  the 
canon. 

Far  down  the  gulch  he  heard  a  locomotive 
whistle,  and  his  heart  stood  still.  Presently  he 
felt  the  brakes  taking  hold  of  the  wheels.  It 


McGUIRE   GOES  SWITCHING  13! 

seemed  incredible,  but  it  was  so.  The  friction 
of  the  whirling  wheels  had  melted  the  ice  from 
the  brake  shoes,  and  now  the  wheels  began  to 
smoke.  The  curves  and  reverse  curves  helped 
also,  and  the  runaway  train  began  to  slow 
down.  He  could  easily  jump  now,  if  they 
failed  to  stop,  for  they  were  not  making  twenty 
miles  an  hour ;  but  at  that  moment  he  heard  a 
wild,  distressing  cry  for  brakes  from  a  locomo 
tive.  He  was  riding  on  the  rearmost  car,  the 
head  end  was  hidden  round  a  sharp  curve,  and 
now  he  saw  the  middle  of  his  train  hump  up 
like  a  cat's  back.  The  first  car  shot  up  over 
the  pilot  of  the  head  engine,  cut  off  her  stack, 
whistle,  and  one  corner  of  her  cab,  but  fortu 
nately  no  one  was  hurt. 

That  afternoon  McGuire  promoted  the  fore 
man  to  be  yardmaster,  went  to  Denver  and  re 
signed  "  in  person  ;"  but  his  resignation  was  not 
accepted. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SNOWBOUND 

DOWN  on  the  desert  the  earth  was  warm 
and  brown,  but  when  the  train  had  passed 
Grand  Junction  a  few  stray  flakes  were  seen 
floating  across  the  canon.  At  Montrose,  where 
they  picked  up  a  helper  for  the  hill,  the  ground 
was  covered  with  snow.  Most  of  the  passen 
gers  got  out  and  walked  up  and  down  the  long 
wooden  platform,  for  the  air  was  cool  and 
bracing.  It  seemed  that  there  must  be  some 
trouble  up  the  line,  for  the  conductor  of  No.  8 
was  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  his  hands  full  of 
orders  that  he  appeared  unable  to  fill.  A 
couple  of  travelling  men  were  threatening  to 
sue  the  company  unless  they  reached  Denver 
within  the  next  twenty-four  hours;  and  other 
passengers  were  getting  hungry.  Jack  Bowen, 
of  the  Ouray  branch,  was  lying  luminously  to  a 
dignified  New  Englander  and  his  handsome 
daughter.  Jack  was  the  uniformed  conductor 


SNOWBOUND  133 


of  the  Ouray  run,  whose  elocutionary  accom 
plishments  had  made  him  the  envy  of  all  the 
men  on  the  mountain  division  of  this  mountain 
ous  railroad.  They  had  ploughed  up  a  tribe 
of  Indians  coming  down  that  morning,  Jack 
was  saying,  with  his  insinuating,  half- embar 
rassed  smile,  and  the  pilot  of  the  locomotive 
had  been  red  with  the  blood  of  the  band. 

"  Look  now,  you  can  see  the  fireman  clean 
ing  it  off,"  he  added,  for  the  old  gentleman 
was  going  to  smile.  Sure  enough  they  could 
see  the  fireman  with  a  piece  of  waste  wiping 
the  pilot  of  the  Ouray  engine. 

"And  did  you  leave  them  where  they  lay?  " 

"Sure,"  said  Jack;  "couldn't  stop  the 
most  important  run  on  the  road  for  a  few 
miserable  Ingins,  —  dead  Ingins  at  that.  'Sides, 
if  we  stopped  we  could  n't  get  'em." 

"  Was  the  snow  so  very  deep  up  there?  " 

"  'T  want  the  snow,"  said  the  conductor, 
smiling  and  consulting  his  big  gold  watch. 

"  What  was  it,  then?"  asked  the  tourist,  be 
coming  more  and  more  interested. 

"  Well,  it  so  happened  that  a  band  of  wolves 
was  at  that  moment  passin'  down  towards  the 


134  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

Uncompahgre  in  search  of  food,  an*  the  mo 
ment  they  got  scent  o'  blood  they  pounced 
upon  the  prey." 

The  young  lady  caught  her  father's  arm  and 
shuddered. 

"  If  there  is  anything  a  wolf  rolls  as  a  sweet 
morsel  under  his  tongue,"  said  Jack,  glancing 
at  his  watch  again,  "  it 's  Ingin  fricassee,  rare 
and  red." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  said  the  young  lady,  "  let 's 
go  back  to  the  sleeper." 

"You  see,"  resumed  the  conductor,  "it 
did  n't  matter  much,  for  this  was  a  band  of 
renegades  —  bad  Ingins  they  are  called,  —  who 
ought  to  have  been  killed  some  time  ago. 
Their  leader,  Cut- Your- Hair- Short,  was  spotted 
by  old  Ouray,  the  chief,  anyway.  He  wanted 
to  marry  Cat-A-Sleepin',  Ouray's  daughter; 
the  old  man  kicked,  and  what  you  'spose  this 
Ingin,  Cut-Your-Hair-Short,  did?" 

"  I  have  n't  the  remotest  idea,"  said  the 
bewildered  New  Englander. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  goes  up  to  the  old  chief's 
hogan  —  " 

"  Bovven." 


SNO  W 'BO  UND  135 


"  Excuse  me,"  said  Jack,  "  till  I  explain  the 
orders  to  this  young  man.  Yo'  see  he  's  new 
at  the  business,  and  I  have  to  help  him  out 
occasionally  to  see  —  " 

"  Bowen." 

This  time  the  conductor  of  No.  8  spoke 
short  and  sharp,  and  Bowen  went  to  him. 

"Now,  look  here,  Jack,"  began  the  con 
ductor  of  the  snow-bound  train,  "  if  you  don't 
stop  stuffing  that  old  gentleman  I  swear  I  '11 
report  you  when  I  get  to  Salida." 

"  Who  's  stuffin'  'im?" 

"  That 's  all  right,  you  lie  to  your  own  peo 
ple  —  let  my  passengers  alone." 

Jack  went  back  to  his  prey. 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  gray-haired  voyager, 
"  that  this  young  man  will  not  get  us  into  any 
trouble." 

"  Oh  !  not  a  bit  of  it,  not  a  bit  of  it ;  I  have 
explained  everything  to  him,  and  he  won't 
forget.  Now,  you  'd  never  dream  it,"  he  went 
on,  turning  and  walking  beside  the  handsome 
woman,  "  but  that  young  fellow  McGuire  's  a 
nobleman." 

"You  don't  tell  me?" 


136  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

"  Yes,  I  do,  an'  what 's  more  to  the  point, 
it 's  true.  Look  at  him.  You  don't  suppose 
a  young  fellow  like  that  would  be  in  charge  of 
a  main  line  express  train  'less  he  had  a  pull.'" 

"A  what?" 

"  'Less  he  cut  ice  elsewhere,"  said  the  con 
ductor.  "  I  tell  you  that  comedian  stands  to 
win  out  a  throne  some  day.  His  father  was 
Irish,  of  course,  but  his  mother  was  French. 
She  could  chase  herself  right  back  to  the  old 
rock  and  rye  family,  the  Bourbins,  I  think  they 
were  called.  His  grandfather  lived  with  a  man 
called  Louie  Sais  on  a  ranch  called  Ver  Sigh,  a 
little  way  out  of  Paris.  The  old  man  was  a 
sort  of  a  chum  of  the  Louis,  called  'The 
Gentleman  of  the  Sleeping  Car '  or  something 
like  that,  —  he  was  a  big  hole  at  Ver  Sigh,  was 
this  boy's  Grand  Pare." 

"  Allabo  a-r-d,"  said  McGuire  in  the  mid 
dle  of  his  career.  The  old  gentleman  bowed 
stiffly  to  Bowen,  the  young  lady  smiled  sweetly, 
and  stepped  into  the  Pullman. 

When  McGuire  came  through  the  car  taking 
up  tickets  after  leaving  Montrose,  he  found  Miss 
Landon  alone.  She  lifted  her  eyes,  —  sunny 


SNO  W 'BO  UND  137 


eyes,  they  were,  that  seemed  to  mock  him  and 
the  blinding  storm  through  which  they  were 
now  rolling  away  up  the  long,  even  grade  that 
made  a  mighty  approach  to  the  mountain. 
She  held  her  glance  upon  his  burning  face  for 
the  briefest  space,  but  when  he  passed  on  he 
could  still  feel  the  warmth  of  her  eyes,  like  the 
waves  of  lingering  sunshine  through  which  you 
pass  when  you  are  walking  in  a  summer  twilight. 

When  he  had  finished  his  work  the  con 
ductor  returned  to  the  smoking-room  of  the 
sleeper,  but  found  after  a  moment's  stay  that 
the  air  was  vile,  the  place  stuffy,  and  he  went 
forward  to  the  day  coach.  As  he  passed 
through  the  forward  sleeper  he  noticed  that 
Miss  Landon  was  still  alone.  She  had  her 
back  to  him,  but  as  he  came  up  the  aisle  the 
swing  of  the  car  on  a  short  curve  caused  him 
to  steady  himself  upon  the  end  of  her  section. 
At  the  same  moment  and  for  the  same  reason 
she  put  an  ungloved  hand  out  to  clasp  the 
edge  of  the  narrow  seat,  and  it  fell,  soft  as  a 
snowflake,  warm  as  a  sunbeam,  and  soundless 
as  a  shadow,  upon  the  hand  of  McGuire. 

To  be  sure  she  did  not  leave  it  there  long, 


138  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

but  she  had  to  press  the  hand  of  the  con 
ductor  to  steady  herself  in  the  car  that  was 
now  rolling  like  a  stage-coach  on  the  Rainbow 
Route.  She  drew  her  hand  away,  and  went 
red  to  the  tips  of  her  shell-like  ears ;  but  she 
did  not  look  back  to  see  whose  hand  she  had 
caressed.  Looking  into  the  narrow  mirror  at 
her  side,  McGuire  saw  her  confusion  and  hur 
ried  past,  and  she  wondered  whether  it  was 
his  hand  that  she  had  touched.  She  rather 
hoped  that  it  might  be  so  ! 

Up  in  the  forward  car  the  two  travelling 
men,  the  editor  of  the  Ouray  Solid  Muldoon, 
and  a  cowboy  from  the  Uncompahgre,  were 
playing  poker.  Now  McGuire  knew  that  this 
was  against  the  rules  of  the  road,  but  he  was 
slow  to  make  protest  under  the  circumstances. 
He  was  reasonably  sure  that  they  would  all 
come  back  to  Montrose,  for  the  snow  was 
growing  deeper  and  deeper  with  each  passing 
mile-post.  He  would  have  these  men  on  his 
hands  overnight,  and  so  would  avoid  friction. 
He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  door  for  a 
moment  listening  to  the  talk  of  the  travelling 
men,  the  cowboy,  and  the  editor. 


SNO  W 'BO  UND  139 


"  Why,  I  know  'im  like  a  book,"  Muldoon 
was  saying.  "  Name  's  Landon,  Ole  Joe  Lan- 
don  of  Gloucester,  made  his  money  on  codfish  : 
ante  up  there,  Patsy." 

"  It 's  his  do,"  said  Patsy. 

"  Come  to  the  centre  there,  ole  brandin'  iron," 
said  the  editor  to  the  cattleman,  and  the  latter 
dropped  a  cartridge  among  the  coin  and  other 
equivalent  upon  the  impoverished  poker  table. 

Time  had  been  when  McGuire  could  linger 
and  laugh  for  hours  where  these  rollicking  voy 
agers  played  and  told  stories,  but  now  their 
talk  seemed  absolutely  silly,  not  to  say  vulgar, 
and  he  turned  away. 

"  After  all,"  mused  McGuire,  "  there  's  not 
such  a  gulf  between  us.  She's  a  rich  mer 
chant's  daughter,  I  'm  a  poor  conductor.  She 
must  ever  remain  a  merchant's  daughter  with 
no  show  for  promotion.  I  'm  due  to  be  a 
superintendent,  a  general  manager,  and,  possi 
bly,  the  president  of  a  railroad.  And  then  — 
if  she  is  still  a  merchant's  daughter  !  well,  it 's 
a  long,  long  road,  but  by  the  god  o'  the  wind, 
I  '11  make  the  effort.  If  I  fail,  very  well,  I 
shall  be  better  for  having  tried." 


140  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

Seating  himself  in  a  quiet  corner,  McGuire 
began  to  count  upon  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand 
the  men  who  had  begun  far  below  where  he 
now  stood  and  worked  up  to  positions  of  trust. 
First  he  counted  presidents  only.  There  were 
Manvill,  Moffett,  Newell,  Blackstone,  Clark  of 
the  U.  P.,  Clark  of  the  M.  &  O.,  Towne, 
Hughitt,  and  Van  Home.  When  he  began  on 
the  general  managers  he  had  to  go  to  the  other 
hand,  and  when  he  came  to  count  the  self- 
made  superintendents,  beginning  loyally  with 
"the  old  man"  of  the  mountain  division,  he 
ran  out  of  fingers  and  took  heart.  And  what  a 
prize  to  work  for,  and  she  was  rich.  Inci 
dentally  she  was  an  angel. 

He  could  not  tell  why  he  did  so,  but  he  now 
went  back  through  the  car,  and  as  he  was  pass 
ing  the  old  merchant's  section  the  head  engine, 
which  was  wearing  a  pilot  plough,  screamed  for 
brakes,  and  the  train  came  to  a  dead  stop. 

"  Anything  wrong?  "  asked  the  traveller. 

"Oh  !  no,"  said  McGuire  cheerfully,  "just  a 
little  skiff  o'  snow." 

Now,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  look 
into  the  eyes  of  the  girl  again,  but  when  she 


SNOWBOUND  141 


leaned  over  and  asked,  with  just  the  sweetest, 
distressing  little  scare  in  her  voice,  if  there  were 
any  wolves  about,  he  had  to  look. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  there  are  no  wolves  in 
these  mountains  to  speak  of,"  and  he  smiled  a 
smile  that  was  almost  sad. 

"  Nor  Indians?"  said  the  sweet  voice,  a  trifle 
clearer. 

"  Nor  Indians,"  said  McGuire,  shaking  his 
head. 

"They're  dreadful  on  the  Ouray  branch." 

"  Which,  the  wolves  or  the  Indians?  " 

"  Both,"  she  replied.  "  A  gentleman  told 
us,  there  where  we  stopped  so  long,  that  they 
killed  ever  so  many  Indians  coming  down  this 
morning.  Mr.  Bowen,  I  think  they  called  him  ; 
he  seemed  to  be  one  of  the  officials  of  the 
road,  so  I  'm  sure  he  would  not  say  anything  to 
frighten  people  if  it  were  not  true." 

McGuire  was  boiling.  He  might  have  been 
tempted  to  introduce  Mr.  Bowen  then  and 
there,  but  at  that  moment  the  head  brakeman 
came  back  to  say  that  they  were  stuck  fast  in  a 
drift  a  hundred  yards  from  the  little  telegraph 
office  at  the  foot  of  Cerro  Hill. 


142  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

For  nearly  an  hour  they  bucked  and  backed 
and  bucked  again,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  The 
snow  was  growing  deeper  with  each  passing 
moment.  Presently  it  stopped  snowing  and 
began  to  blow,  and  McGuire  asked  for  orders 
to  back  down  to  Montrose  again,  but  the 
despatcher  would  not  let  him  go. 

Denver  was  hammering  Salida,  Salida  was 
swearing  at  Gunnison,  and  Gunnison  was  burn 
ing  the  company  wire  over  Cerro  Hill,  telling 
McGuire  to  get  out. 

Finally  the  trainmaster  lost  his  head,  McGuire 
lost  his  temper,  wrote  his  resignation  and 
handed  it  to  the  operator,  but  fortunately  the 
wires  were  down  by  this  time,  and  the  message 
could  n't  go. 

The  section  gang  having  cleared  the  siding, 
the  train  was  now  pulled  in  off  the  main  line. 

Being  assured  that  there  were  no  wolves  nor 
Indians  on  the  right  of  way,  Miss  Landon  came 
out  with  her  father  to  see  the  sights.  It  was 
growing  dark  at  the  end  of  a  short  December 
day,  and  what  with  the  flying  snow  and  the 
screams  and  snorts  of  the  engines  that  had 
been  uncoupled  and  were  now  hammering  away 


SNOWBOUND  143 


at  the  deep  drifts,  the  merchant  and  his  daugh 
ter  were  unable  to  hear  the  whistle  of  a  snow- 
plough  that  was  at  that  moment  falling  down 
from  Cerro  summit. 

McGuire  heard  the  whistle,  backed  his  buck- 
ers  on  to  the  siding,  and,  looking  up,  saw  Miss 
Landon  and  her  father  standing  on  the  edge  of 
a  thorough  cut  that  had  drifted  almost  full  of 
snow.  Appreciating  at  a  glance  the  danger 
they  were  in,  the  conductor  ran  up  the  track 
and  tried  to  call  to  the  old  gentleman  to  stand 
back,  but  the  snow  was  deep  and  held  him,  the 
storm  muffled  his  voice,  and  the  wind  carried 
his  cry  away  across  the  hills  and  lost  it  among 
the  shrouded  cedars. 

The  big  engine,  and  the  snow-plough,  under 
the  snow,  made  little  more  noise  than  a  ship 
would  make  running  under  water,  and  it  was 
not  until  the  plough  was  upon  them  that  the  two 
travellers  at  the  top  of  the  cut  saw  or  heard  it. 
The  great  machine,  which  was  rounding  a  slight 
curve,  seemed  to  be  driving  straight  for  them. 
The  girl  turned  to  try  to  escape,  and  there 
before  her,  not  two  cars  away,  she  saw  what 
seemed  to  be  a  huge  black  bear,  climbing  up 


144  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

the  bank  toward  her.  At  that  moment  she 
stepped  over  the  edge,  and  went  rolling  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  cut,  for  the  newly  drifted 
snow  was  soft  and  light. 

It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  Miss  Landon 
to  have  been  able  to  faint,  but  she  did  not. 
She  had  no  sooner  reached  the  outer  rail  than 
the  big  plough  picked  her  up  and  -hurled  her, 
unhurt,  almost  out  of  the  right  of  way.  She 
grew  dizzy  with  the  sensation  of  falling,  but  was 
able  to  feel  that  she  was  coming  down  on  the 
soft  snow,  and  that  she  was  still  unhurt.  Between 
her  going  up  and  coming  down  she  managed 
to  breathe  a  grateful  prayer,  so  rapidly  does  the 
human  mind  work  at  the  edge  of  the  future. 

After  what  appeared  to  her  a  very  long  time, 
she  came  down  in  a  deep  drift  with  her  eyes 
full  of  snow.  She  felt  soft  arms  about  her 
waist,  and  opened  her  eyes.  "  Help  !  help  !  " 
she  screamed,  for  the  arms  were  the  arms  of 
the  big  black  bear.  Now  the  bear  stood  up 
and  carried  her  away.  She  fainted. 

When  the  sun  went  down  the  wind  went  with 
it.  The  moon  came  up  from  beyond  Ouray 


SNOWBOUND  145 


and  showed  the  still,  cold  world  sleeping  in  her 
robe  of  white.  The  smooth,  high  mountains, 
twenty,  fifty,  and  even  a  hundred  miles  away, 
looked  like  polished  piles  of  marble,  gleaming 
in  the  moonlight.  Miss  Landon  was  lying  on 
a  couch  in  the  drawing-room  of  a  sleeper. 
Her  father  was  seated  opposite  her,  and  when 
the  conductor  looked  in  to  see  if  anything  was 
wanted,  the  merchant  asked  him  to  sit  down. 
The  excitement  through  which  he  had  passed 
made  the  old  gentleman  feel  lonely,  away  out 
there  in  the  wilds  of  a  trackless  waste.  Possibly 
the  stories  that  Bowen  had  told  him  added  to 
his  uneasiness.  He  wanted  to  smoke.  All  the 
other  ladies,  not  having  staterooms,  had  gone  to 
the  hotel  for  the  night.  Miss  Landon  was  ner 
vous  and  he  did  not  like  her  to  be  alone,  so  now, 
making  excuse,  he  went  to  the  smoking-room. 

The  Ouray  train  had  been  unable  to  reach 
its  destination  and  had  also  backed  down  to 
Montrose  again.  McGuire  had  given  Bowen 
orders  to  keep  out  of  his  train,  and  Jack  was 
hurt.  He  had  secured  a  guitar,  a  man  who 
could  play  it,  some  railway  employees  who 
thought  they  could  sing,  and  just  as  the  old 

10 


146  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

gentleman  was  entering  the  smoking-room,  Jack 
and  his  mirth-makers  paused  beneath  Miss 
Landon's  window.  Jack  had  instructed  them 
to  sing  "  Patsy  Git  Up  From  the  Fire,"  and  to 
begin  with  the  chorus. 

The  heart  of  the  handsome  conductor  beat 
wildly  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  the 
charming  girl.  Her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed, 
for  the  excitement  of  the  afternoon  had  left  her 
feverish.  Her  deep  blue  eyes  shed  a  softer 
light  as  she  lounged  upon  the  little  divan  amid 
the  Pullman  pillows. 

Realizing  that  her  duty  was  now  that  of 
hostess  in  her  own  drawing-room,  Miss  Landon 
was  about  to  break  the  embarrassing  silence 
that  was  filling  the  place,  but  at  that  moment 
Camdel,  the  red-haired  soprano,  touched  the 
guitar  and  opened  up  with  a  mirth-provoking 
Irish  accent :  — 

"  Arrah,  Patsy !  git  up  f'om  th'  fire, 

An'  guv  th'  mon  a  sate  j 
Can't  ye  see  that  it 's  Misther  McGuire, 
Come  a  courtin'  yer  sisther  Kate  ?  " 

By  the  time  the  singers  had  concluded  the 
chorus  McGuire  was  on  his  feet,  his  face 
changing  from  red  to  white. 


SNOWBOUND  147 


"  Sit  down,"  said  Miss  Landon,  blushing,  but 
smiling  in  spite  of  herself.  "  I  did  not  know 
you  had  a  bard  among  you  capable  of  making 
songs  upon  occasion,"  she  added;  "please 
don't  disturb  them." 

McGuire  threw  himself  upon  the  seat  and 
bit  his  lip.  If  only  he  could  get  hold  of  Jack 
Bowen  he  'd  break  his  long  back. 

After  what  seemed  an  age  to  McGuire  the 
song  ceased. 

"  I  think  that  is  perfectly  wonderful,"  said 
Miss  Landon  enthusiastically,  "  and  how  nicely 
the  singing  sounds  out  there  in  the  clear,  cold 
night.  They  must  have  made  that  song  since 
we  came  back  from  the  hills ;  and  the  music, 
where  did  they  get  the  tune  ?  Did  that  funny 
Mr.  Bowen  make  that  too?" 

"  That  man  could  n't  make  a  mud  pie ;  he 
can't  whistle  a  tune;  he  can't  even  tell  the 
truth,"  said  the  conductor  of  No.  8,  indignantly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  McGuire,"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  a  pretty  show  of  surprise. 

"  Well,  it 's  true.  I  'm  ashamed  to  say  so, 
but  it 's  true ;  you  must  not  believe  a  word  he 
says." 


148  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

"  Not  one  word?" 

"  Never.  I  don't  see  how  he  made  his  wife 
believe  he  loved  her." 

"  Is  he  married,  then?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  's  as  gentle  as  a  nun  and  as 
harmless  as  a  child,  only  don't  believe  him. 
He  lies  just  for  the  love  of  it,  and  never  to 
injure  any  one.  He  ought  to  leave  the  road 
and  devote  himself  to  literature ;  he  likes 
romancing.  He  calls  his  harmless  bits  of 
fiction  '  Novels  Out  of  Print.'  " 

"  He  certainly  has  a  ready  and  vivid  imagina 
tion." 

Miss  Landon  sighed  lightly.  McGuire  was 
handsome,  and  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Please  take  off  that  horrid  woolly  coat," 
said  Miss  Landon,  with  a  little  shudder. 

McGuire,  blushing,  removed  his  bearskin 
overcoat  that  he  had  put  on  up  in  the  hills 
that  afternoon. 

"  I  presume  papa  has  thanked  you  for  rescu 
ing  me  so  heroically,"  she  said,  looking  at  him. 

"  He  has,  but  it  was  not  necessary." 

"  But  it  is  right,  and  I  must  thank  you  also." 

"  Then,  if  you  thank  me,  I  am  glad,  for  you 


SNOWBOUND  149 


did  not  seem  to  appreciate  my  efforts  at  the 
moment." 

"  Who  could  ?  I  was  scared  out  of  my  wits ; 
I  took  you  for  a  horrid  bear,  and  that  was  the 
first  time  I  ever  fainted  in  all  my  life ;  and 
that 's  more  than  some  of  your  Western  girls  can 
say,  who  are  so  sensible,  self-possessed,  and 
brave." 

"  I  thought,"  said  McGuire,  smiling  back  at 
the  young  lady,  "  it  might  be  because  we  had 
not  been  properly  introduced.  You  have  doubt 
less  heard  of  the  Boston  girl  who  was  drowning, 
but  refused  to  be  rescued  upon  that  ground?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  it,  and  I  should  not  believe 
it  if  I  had.  Boston  girls  are  as  sensible  as  Den 
ver  girls  or  San  Francisco  girls.  I  don't  know 
that  we  have  been  introduced  yet,"  she  added, 
with  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  and  her  words 
went  straight  to  the  heart  of  McGuire. 

He  felt  that  he  ought  to  go,  and  yet  he  knew 
that  her  father  had  left  her  in  his  care,  and  that 
he  would  be  expected  to  remain  in  the  drawing- 
room  until  the  merchant  had  finished  his  cigar. 
To  add  to  his  confusion  she  let  her  window 
shade  fly  up,  and,  apparently  ignoring  his  pres- 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


ence,  was  looking  out  upon  the  cold,  shrouded 
world,  that  seemed  so  wild  and  wide. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  entering  the 
room,  "  I  feel  better  now  ;  first  good  smoke 
I  've  had  since  dinner." 

When  McGuire  arose  and  took  up  his  great 
coat,  Miss  Landon  stood  up  and  returned  his 
good  night. 

"  Good  night,"  said  the  merchant,  and  imme 
diately,  as  if  they  had  been  waiting  for  time,  the 
mirth-  makers  upon  the  platform  sang  : 

"  Good  night,  ladies,  good  night,  ladies, 

Sweet  dreams,  ladies  —  we  're  going  to  leave  you  now." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

BREAKING   THE   TRAIL 

AT  midnight  orders  came.  The  road  was 
open,  the  wires  up,  and  the  delayed  train, 
in  three  sections,  pulled  out  for  the  hills.  The 
big  pilot  plough  that  had  "bucked"  the  beauti 
ful  Miss  Landon  out  of  the  right-of-way  and  into 
the  arms  of  McGuire  ran  ahead,  followed  by 
the  Rockaway  with  two  cars,  while  a  couple  of 
heavy  mountain-climbers  brought  up  the  coaches 
and  sleepers. 

McGuire  watched,  like  a  faithful  slave,  at  the 
door  of  the  merchant's  stateroom,  for  he  was 
hard  hit  by  the  hand  and  eyes  of  the  merchant's 
daughter.  The  heavy  car  rocked  gently  on  the 
curves  as  the  big  engines,  with  much  slipping 
and  sanding,  toiled  to  the  summit  of  Cerro  Hill. 
In  a  little  while  they  were  rolling  along  the 
banks  of  the  Gunnison,  and  the  silent  river  was 
slipping  past  them  under  the  snow.  At  sunrise, 
having  toiled  up  another  long,  hard  hill,  the 


152  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

train  stood  at  the  crest  of  the  continent,  ten 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 

McGuire  regretted  that  the  old  gentleman 
had  taken  a  drawing-room,  for  when  they  had  a 
section  in  the  body  of  the  car.  the  conductor 
could  see  the  beautiful  woman  as  he  passed  up 
and  down.  Now,  if  she  chose  to  do  so,  she 
could  isolate  herself  utterly.  While  the  grim 
drivers  were  oiling  round,  the  young  lady 
appeared  upon  the  platform,  smiled  at  McGuire. 
and  asked  him  to  help  her  down. 

"  Papa 's  still  sleeping,  and  I  don't  want  to 
miss  the  view." 

The  conductor  opened  a  narrow  door  in  the 
big,  smoky  snow-shed,  and  they  stepped  out 
into  the  crisp,  sunny  air. 

"  Oh !  how  perfectly  beautiful,"  exclaimed 
the  enthusiastic  girl,  gazing  over  the  top  of 
aspen  groves,  where  the  trees  were  hung  with 
millions  of  jewels  that  sparkled  and  quivered  in 
the  morning  sun. 

When  the  train  had  begun  to  wind  away 
down  the  mountain  side  the  conductor  brought 
a  camp-stool,  and  the  young  lady  sat  upon  the 
rear  platform  of  the  rearmost  car  and  watched 


BREAKING   THE    TRAIL  153 

the  mountains  spring  up  in  their  wake.  Once, 
when  they  were  rounding  a  long  curve,  the  con 
ductor  asked  her  to  look  over  the  low  range, 
Poncho  Pass,  that  walls  the  San  Luis  away 
from  the  Arkansas  Valley,  and  there  she  saw  an 
even  hundred  miles  of  the  snowy  Sangre  de 
Cristo,  lifting  her  white  crest  far  up  into  the 
burnished  blue. 

Presently,  when  they  had  dropped  into  the 
canon,  and  there  were  no  more  mountains  to 
be  seen,  Miss  Landon  asked  the  conductor  to 
send  her  the  words  of  the  song  his  friends  had 
sung  to  them  over  beyond  the  Rockies. 

"  I  '11  write  you  the  chorus  now,  on  a  leaf 
from  my  train-book." 

"  Oh,  do  you  remember  it?  " 

"  I  ought  to ;  I  have  heard  it  all  my  life." 

"  Then  it  was  not  made  for  us  —  for  you,  I 
mean?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  not." 

"  Then  how  did  it  happen  to  have  our  — 
your  name?  " 

"  Oh,  McGuire  is  a  common  Irish  name,  you 
know.  But  was  it  your  name,  as  well?  Is 
your  name  Kate?  " 


154  THE   WHITE  MAIL 

She  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  Then  my  friends  were  innocent,  for  I  'm 
sure  they  did  not  know  it,  or  they  never  would 
have  sung  that  song.  It  must  have  seemed 
awfully  rude  to  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  thought  it  extremely 
clever,  and  flattered  myself  that  I  had  been  the 
inspiration,  or  part  of  it,  at  least.  Anyway, 
you  '11  send  me  the  song,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  and  he  wrote  her  name  and 
waited  for  the  address. 

"Just  Gloucester  —  everybody  knows  us  — 
or  papa,  at  least." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  conductor,  closing  his 
book. 

"  Thank  you." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  saving  the  life  of  a  poor  girl  and  bring 
ing  her  back  to  her  papa,  like  a  good  bear, 
when  you  might  have  carried  her  away  to  the 
hills." 

Now,  the  light  engines  that  had  helped  them 
up  the  mountain  began  whistling  for  Salida. 

"  I  get  off  here,"  said  McGuire,  rising. 

"Oh!  is  this  the  end?" 


BREAKING   THE   TRAIL  155 

"  Of  my  run,  yes,  and  this  has  been  the  best 
trip  I  ever  had." 

"  Do  you  call  it  a  good  trip  when  you  are  a 
day  late?" 

"  I  call  this  a  good  trip.  And  that  reminds 
me  that  I  have  not  made  out  my  report." 

"  What  will  you  report?  " 

"  The  cause  of  the  delay." 

"And  the  effect?" 

"  Yes,"  said  McGuire,  with  his  heart  hitting 
his  vest  like  a  trip-hammer,  "  but  not  now.  I  '11 
make  that  report  when  other  men  are  reporting 
to  me." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  will  when  you  see  my  report.  Listen  ! 
When  I  am  the  Superintendent  and  have  out 
grown  this  beastly  uniform,  I  '11  send  you  that 
song,  and  if  you  get  it,  then  I  '11  forward  my 
report." 

He  was  so  handsome,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
the  light  of  love,  his  voice  so  full  of  emotion, 
that  a  woman  with  cooler  blood  than  that  which 
flowed  in  the  veins  of  the  Gloucester  girl  might 
have  been  moved. 

She  held  out  her  hand  (she  had  removed  one 


156  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

of  her  gloves)  and  McGuire  seized  it.  Glancing 
through  the  glass  door,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
and  she  suffered  him  to  do  so. 

She  felt  the  ring  on  his  ringer,  and  remem 
bered  that  she  had  felt  it  once  before.  It  was 
his  hand  that  she  had  pressed,  accidentally,  over 
there  in  the  storm. 

When  the  train  swung  'round  the  curve  and 
stopped  at  the  station,  the  conductor  touched 
his  cap  and  dropped  off. 

When  he  had  registered  "  in  "  he  came  out, 
and  the  Gloucester  girl,  watching  at  the  window, 
saw  him  cross  the  little  swinging  bridge  and 
lose  himself  in  the  narrow,  unpaved  streets  of 
what,  to  her,  seemed  a  dreary  little  town. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   NEW   LINE 

WHEN  a  man  sets  his  heart  on  a  thing  he 
can  accomplish  a  great  deal  in  a  compar 
atively  short  time.  Thomas  McGuire  had  been 
a  careful,  industrious  employee.  He  had  never 
acquired  the  habit  of  wasting  all  of  his  leisure 
hours  and  spare  dollars  in  the  wild  resorts  of  the 
thriving  towns  that  lay  at  either  end  of  his  run. 
He  began  now  to  study  the  history  of  American 
railways.  He  devoured  everything  in  print, 
from  the  local  weekly  paper  to  the  monthly 
magazines  and  reviews.  He  bought,  begged,  and 
borrowed  books  that  would  give  him  more  or 
less  of  the  financial  history  of  the  various  rail 
ways  of  the  country.  He  had  the  advantage  of 
a  fair  education,  which  enabled  him  to  read 
rapidly  and  understandingly.  What  he  longed 
for  and  worked  for  was  promotion,  but  it  seemed 
to  go  by  the  other  way.  He  grew  impatient. 
To  be  sure,  nobody  ran  around  him,  but  pro- 


158  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

motion  came  slowly.  Nobody  seemed  to  want 
to  quit,  or  get  killed,  and  so,  when  the  Inter- 
mountain  Air  Line  was  built,  McGuire  got  in  on 
the  ground  floor.  He  had  the  first  passenger 
train  on  the  road,  and  in  a  little  while  was  made 
trainmaster,  but  there  he  hung  for  a  whole  year. 
Another  step  would  put  him  in  a  place  where 
he  could  send  his  song  to  Gloucester,  but  he 
was  powerless  to  help  himself  on.  At  last  an 
Assistant  Superintendent  was  appointed  and 
McGuire  got  the  job. 

Another  man  might  have  strained  a  point 
here  and  knocked,  at  once,  at  the  gate  of  the 
handsome  woman's  walled-up  heart,  but  Mc 
Guire  was  severely  exact.  He  must  not  be  the 
Assistant  Superintendent,  but  the  whole  thing, 
and  so  he  worked  and  waited  until  another  year 
had  gone  by.  Of  course,  promotion  was  bound 
to  come  to  a  man  who  worked  as  he  worked,  he 
knew  that,  and  it  did  come  one  spring  morning 
when  it  was  least  expected.  He  was  asked  to 
take  the  place  of  General  Superintendent  of  a 
competing  line.  As  might  have  been  expected, 
one  of  the  first  things  he  did  was  to  mail  a  copy 
of  a  certain  homely  song  to  Gloucester,  as  a 


A    NEW  LINE  159 


signal  of  his  success,  and  then  he  went  to  work 
with  a  will.  In  less  than  six  months  he  had 
made  a  name  for  himself,  crippled  the  Air  Line, 
which  means  success  in  this  country  where  com 
petition  is  the  life  (or  death)  of  railroading,  and 
they  asked  him  to  come  back,  and  proposed  to 
double  his  salary.  But  he  would  not  go  as  assist 
ant  to  a  man  who  was  notoriously  incompetent, 
and  whose  only  excuse  for  being  in  the  business 
was  that  his  father  had  inherited  money  and  put 
it  into  the  building  of  the  new  line.  It  happened, 
however,  as  it  frequently  does,  that  other 
people  had  put  money  into  the  same  enterprise ; 
they  were  losing  it,  and  they  objected  to  assess 
ments  where  they  had  expected  dividends.  The 
young  man  resigned ;  McGuire  took  his  place, 
and  in  ninety  days  had  pulled  the  business  back 
that  he  had  pulled  away  with  him.  When  a 
merchant  is  going  to  ship  a  few  cars  of  goods 
over  somebody's  railroad,  he  says  to  McGuire, 
who  happens  to  be  his  personal  friend,  "You 
can  do  this  as  cheaply  as  the  other  fellows?" 
"  Yes,"  says  McGuire,  "  the  rate  is  about  the 
same  on  all  lines."  So  it  comes  down  to  a 
matter  of  personal  popularity,  and  McGuire  gets 


l6o  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

the  freight,  and  that 's  all  there  is  to  railroading, 
so  far  as  getting  business  goes.  When  it  comes 
to  handling  men  and  keeping  up  track,  that  re 
quires  a  genius  with  colder  blood. 

In  a  little  while  McGuire  was  made  General 
Manager,  but  he  was  unhappy.  What  was  the 
good  of  all  this  success?  The  manuscript  of  the 
song  had  come  back  to  him  from  the  dead- 
letter  office.  He  was  famous  in  railway 
circles  but  miserable  in  mind.  It  was  im 
possible  to  pick  up  a  newspaper  that  ran  "  Rail 
roads  "  without  reading  of  the  Inter-Mountain 
Air  Line  and  its  brilliant  young  manager.  He 
was  dignified  enough  to  command  the  respect, 
and  simple  and  democratic  enough  to  win  the 
love,  of  his  subordinates.  He  looked  to  the 
heads  of  the  various  departments  to  manage 
the  business,  but  watched  over  it  all  himself. 
He  was  always  accessible.  He  could  awe  a 
manager's  meeting  or  he  could  put  in  a  frog. 

He  never  locked  his  door. 


CHAPTER  XX 

COMING   HOME 

She  gazed  on  the  old  things  of  Egypt  and  India, 
Sighed  o'er  the  ruins  of  Athens  and  Rome ; 
Painted  in  Paris,  fiddled  in  Leipsic, 
Summered  at  Homburg  ;  and  then,  came  home. 

MISS  Landon  was  eighteen  when  the  snow- 
plough  picked  her  up  in  the  thorough-cut 
on  the  Pacific  Slope  and  pitched  her  into  the 
arms  of  Conductor  McGuire.  A  year  later, 
when  her  father  retired,  he  was  a  rich  man.  At 
the  suggestion  of  a  widowed  sister,  the  ex-mer 
chant,  his  daughter,  and  the  widow  went  abroad. 
At  twenty-two  she  had  been  "  finished "  by 
travel,  and  heart-whole,  was  headed  for  home. 
She  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  people  and  things. 
She  had  been  wooed  by  an  Italian  count  and  had 
had  a  brush  with  a  baron  at  Berlin,  but  she  had 
never  been  thrilled  as  she  had  been  with  the 
touch  of  the  hand  and  the  sound  of  the  voice  of 
McGuire.  She  was  probably  the  only  American 
heiress  who  had  given  any  attention  to  the 
poorly  paid  conductors  of  the  European  rail- 
11 


1 62  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

ways ;  the  shabby  guards,  who  run  along  the 
platform  in  soiled  uniforms,  cry  the  name  of 
the  station,  flourish  a  flag,  and  open  and  shut 
the  doors.  Her  conductor  was  as  well  dressed, 
as  handsome,  as  intelligent,  and  almost  as  well 
paid  as  the  captain  of  an  Atlantic  liner.  These 
poor  beggars  were  dirtier  than  the  average 
second  cabin  deck-steward. 

She  was  forever  making  comparisons,  and 
wondering  why  she  did  it.  A  thousand  times 
she  had  recalled  his  ardent  glance  when,  as  he 
told  her  in  unmistakable  language  the  story  of 
his  love,  he  had  kindled  the  first  fire  in  her 
girlish  heart,  and  it  had  not  gone  out. 

Of  course,  he  could  never  be  anything  to 
her,  and  yet,  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not 
forget.  Without  knowing  why,  she  had  con 
ceived  a  deep  interest  in  railways.  She  watched 
the  men  at  work,  marked  the  coming  and  going 
of  trains  in  various  countries,  the  inferior  train 
service  and  accommodation  on  the  continental 
railways  of  Europe. 

Lately  she  had  been  studying  the  financial 
reports  of  the  various  railways  on  both  sides  of 
the  Atlantic,  and  reading  the  stock  quotations. 


COMING  HOME  163 


This  was  probably  because  her  father  had 
invested  a  vast  amount  of  money  in  a  new  road 
in  the  West.  She  remembered  that  she  had 
been  eager  to  have  him  do  this,  and  now  felt  a 
certain  amount  of  responsibility,  and  so  was 
quietly  educating  herself. 

She  often  wondered  whether  the  handsome 
conductor  had  heard  of  the  new  road  in  which 
she  had  half  her  fortune. 

At  times  she  went  so  far  as  to  fancy  herself, 
when  left  alone  in  this  unfeeling  world,  seeking 
advice  from  the  man  who  had  carried  her  out  of 
the  snow-bank.  And  then  she  would  ask  herself 
how  he  could  help  her,  this  obscure  conductor 
of  a  narrow-gauge  railroad  that  wound  among 
the  hills  and  ravines  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Mr.  Landon  had  left  his  business  in  the  hands 
of  his  solicitors,  in  whom  he  had  perfect  faith, 
and  had  given  himself  over  to  rest  for  the  past 
four  years.  Upon  his  arrival  in  London  he 
learned  that  the  new  road,  in  which  he  had  in 
vested,  had  been  roughly  handled  ;  not  by  stock 
jobbers,  who  are  the  dread  of  small  investors, 
but  by  competing  lines.  They  had  made  the 
mistake  which  is  so  often  made,  of  sending  out, 


164  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

as  manager,  a  well-educated,  perfectly  respec 
table,  handsomely  attired,  but  utterly  incom 
petent  son  of  a  bondholder,  who  didn't  know 
a  stop  signal  from  a  three-throw  switch.  The 
road  had  lost  money  from  the  start,  but  a  rich 
and  indulgent  father  had  insisted  upon  keeping 
the  young  man  as  manager,  and  it  was  not  until 
a  well-known  railway  king  had  secured  a  con 
trolling  interest  that  the  young  man  was  per 
mitted  to  return  to  his  tandem  and  pink  tea. 

Things  were  going  better,  lately,  he  learned, 
since  the  road  had  been  in  the  hands  of  a 
"native  manager,"  and  so  the  capitalist  and 
his  charming  daughter  spent  another  year  in 
London. 

"  Papa,"  said  Miss  Landon,  from  her  storm- 
blanket,  one  day  in  mid-ocean,  "  do  you  know 
a  great  deal  of  the  success  of  this  company  is 
due  to  the  employees?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  it 's  the  same  on  a  railway." 

"Ah,  Kate,"  laughed  her  father,  "you're 
always  railroading." 

"  Well,  I  was  just  thinking  (she  paused  for 
just  a  breath)  that  if  that  young  Mr.  McGuire 


COMING  HOME  165 


is  still  conductor  (another  impediment)  you 
ought  to  try  and  get  him  on  our  road." 

"Now,  whatever  made  you  think  of  that 
handsome  young  Irishman?" 

"Well—  " 

"Well?—" 

At  that  moment  the  band  having  assembled 
on  deck,  not  twenty  feet  away,  struck  up  a 
lively  quickstep,  and  the  sound  of  the  E  flat 
thrilled  Miss  Landon,  as  she  had  not  been 
thrilled  since  she  came  out  of  her  teens.  She 
knew  that  tune,  though  she  had  heard  it  but 
once,  and  as  the  leading  cornet  walked  up 
through  the  air,  the  words  came  to  her :  — 

"Arrah,  Patsy  !  git  up  fom  th'  fire, 

An'  guv  th'  mon  a  sate ; 
Can't  ye  see  that  it  Js  Misther  McGuire, 

Come  a  courtin'  yer  sisther  Kate  ? " 

No  man  can  make  money  or  acquire  fame 
without  accumulating  enemies ;  that's  the  price 
of  success.  To  be  sure  they  may  not  be  all 
big  men,  sometimes  not  more  than  two  by  four, 
but  they  can  make  trouble.  A  Boston  attorney, 
who  looked  after  the  interest  and  voted  the 
stock  of  the  absent  shareholder  in  the  Inter- 


1 66  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

mountain  Air  Line,  had  become  the  enemy  of 
General  Manager  McGuire.  This  attorney  had 
had  the  misfortune  to  pass  through  college  with 
young  Van  Swell,  who  had  made  such  a  mess 
of  managing  the  new  road,  and  who  had  been 
forced  to  resign  to  make  room  for  a  real  rail 
road  man,  so,  to  use  a  very  expressive  railroad 
expression,  'he  had  it  in  for"  the  new  General 
Manager.  He  was  a  man  of  influence,  and, 
when  not  otherwise  engaged,  he  worked  among 
the  directors,  many  of  whom  he  knew  intimately, 
and  his  work  was  always  against  McGuire.  The 
railway  king,  who  had  been  the  means  of  mak 
ing  McGuire  General  Manager,  had  been  able  to 
do  so  by  influencing  certain  shareholders,  and 
when  the  Boston  attorney  had  won  two  or  three 
of  these  to  his  side,  the  old  faction  could  con 
trol  the  next  election.  They  would  not  ask  or 
expect  the  resignation  of  the  brilliant  young 
manager.  So  long  as  he  was  content  with  that 
position  they  could  not,  in  their  own  interests, 
ask  him  to  resign.  But  he  was  ambitious. 
Some  of  his  friends  had  been  putting  his  name 
forward  as  the  next  president,  and  that  was 
wormwood  and  gall  to  the  Van  Swell  contin- 


COMING  HOME  167 


gent.  These  rumors,  rife  in  clubs  and  hotel 
lobbies,  soon  reached  the  newspapers,  and  so 
the  public.  As  the  date  for  the  meeting  of  the 
stockholders  drew  near,  the  matter  became  the 
leading  topic  in  the  daily  press.  The  stock  of 
the  Intermountain  Air  Line  became  sensitive  to 
the  newspaper  comments.  Every  man  who  had 
a  dollar  in  the  enterprise  was  uneasy.  Men 
who  lived  like  undertakers,  off  the  misfortunes 
of  others,  who  made  money  only  when  some  one 
else  lost,  knew  not  whether  to  buy  or  sell.  If 
the  election  could  take  place  now,  they  could 
give  a  good  guess  that  young  Van  Swell  would 
be  the  next  president.  If  a  certain  man  who 
had  been  abroad  for  three  or  four  years  re 
turned,  took  the  advice  of  his  friends  and  voted 
his  stock  instead  of  allowing  his  lawyer  to  vote 
it,  things  might  be  different.  A  bushel  or  more 
letters  had  been  following  this  important, 
though  somewhat  indifferent,  shareholder  all 
over  Europe.  They  had  arrived  in  London 
only  the  day  after  the  important  individual  had 
sailed  for  New  York.  Being  a  modest  man, 
who  considered  his  comings  and  goings  of  little 
importance  to  the  general  public,  he  had  not 


1 68  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

taken  the  trouble  to  notify  his  friends  of  his 
intentions,  but  when  a  list  of  "  distinguished  " 
passengers  had  been  cabled  over,  there  was  a 
little  flurry  in  Wall  Street.  The  friends  of  Mc- 
Guire  were  enthusiastic.  McGuire  was  indiffer 
ent.  His  friends  wired  him  to  come  East  and 
make  a  fight  for  the  great  prize  that  seemed 
almost  within  his  grasp.  He  refused  to 
budge.  The  bright  young  men  who  "  did  the 
railroads  "  on  the  daily  papers  had  fun  with  Van 
Swell.  They  wondered  whether  he  would  take 
his  valet  and  his  yacht  to  the  mountains  with 
him.  For  a  week  and  a  day  the  excitement 
was  at  fever  heat,  but  out  in  the  Rockies,  where 
the  first  frost  was  touching  the  oak  and  the 
aspen  with  silver  and  gold,  the  General  Manager 
of  the  Air  Line  kept  perfectly  cool.  The  loyal 
employees,  who  had  inklings  of  the  doings  of  the 
pink-tea  contingent  at  the  East,  spoke  gently, 
almost  reverently,  to  the  General  Manager.  It 
would  be  a  pity  to  lose  him,  people  said,  and 
many  of  the  leading  shippers  said  openly  that 
they  would  give  the  Air  Line  no  business  if  the 
town  lost  this  genial  official.  The  switchmen 
"offered"  to  strike.  Of  all  the  people  inter- 


COMING  HOME  169 


ested,  directly  or  indirectly,  McGuire  showed 
the  least  anxiety.  Finally,  the  knowing  ones 
guessed  the  cause  of  his  indifference,  which  was 
now  beginning  to  alarm  his  enemies.  He  had 
things  "  cut  and  dried,"  said  the  knowing  ones, 
and  it  began  to  look  that  way.  But  it  was  not 
so.  There  was  a  shadow  upon  the  heart  of  the 
General  Manager.  Few  men  in  America  had 
made  greater  success  or  reached  a  higher  place 
in  the  railway  world  in  a  lifetime  than  this 
man  had  gained  in  thirty-five  years,  and  yet  he 
was  not  happy. 

Now,  as  the  time  for  the  election  of  a  new 
president  drew  near,  the  pressure  became  so 
great  and  the  cry  for  McGuire  at  the  seat  of 
war  grew  so  loud,  that  the  General  Manager 
yielded,  reluctantly,  and  made  ready  for  the 
journey.  He  might  have  carried  his  private 
car,  for  there  was  not  a  line  between  the  Atlan 
tic  and  the  Pacific  that  would  hesitate  to  handle 
it;  but  he  contented  himself  with  the  section 
to  which  his  Pullman  pass  entitled  him,  and  his 
annual  transportation.  So  quietly  did  he  de 
part  that  none  of  the  papers  knew  of  it  until  he 
was  far  out  on  the  plains.  He  had  never  been 


I  70  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

in  Boston.  She  might  be  living  there  and  now. 
As  the  train  bore  him  out  toward  the  Atlantic 
he  began  to  wonder  whether  he  might  see  her 
driving  in  the  park  with  her  dignified  old 
father  or  (he  dreaded  the  thought)  with  her 
husband. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

ON    A    ROLLING    SEA 

WHEN  the  band  ceased  playing,  Miss 
Landon's  father  had  closed  his  eyes  and 
had  doubtless  forgotten  that  his  daughter  had 
mentioned  the  conductor  of  the  snow-bound 
train  in  which  they  had  once  travelled.  But 
she  had  not  forgotten,  and  now  sat  musing  on 
the  past  and  dreaming  of  the  future.  The  sea 
was  dead  calm,  and  but  for  the  vibration  of  the 
ship,  caused  by  the  machinery,  and  the  slight 
lifting  and  lowering  of  the  huge  vessel  as  she 
ploughed  through  the  ocean,  one  might  have 
fancied  that  she  was  riding  at  anchor.  The  sun 
shone  dimly  through  an  autumn  haze.  Here 
and  there  the  curving  spine  of  a  leaping  porpoise 
split  the  surface  of  the  silver  sea,  that  lay  like  a 
great  drop  of  molten  lead.  Far  out  toward  the 
banks  a  whale  was  spouting  like  a  hose  at  a 
fire.  Now  the  big  liner  turns  from  her  path  to 
nose  about  an  old  scow  that  is  drifting,  bottom 


172  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

side  up,  with  the  current  of  the  sea.  A  half- 
dozen  gulls  with  steady  wing  stand  above  the 
stern  of  the  ship.  Some  of  the  passengers  are 
walking,  some  are  dozing,  others  are  reading, 
and  all  are  apparently  perfectly  contented.  As 
the  sun  went  down  the  sea  came  up,  and  the 
big  ship  began  to  roll.  When  it  was  dark,  save 
for  the  stars  that  stood  above  the  ship,  she  be 
gan  to  pitch.  One  by  one  the  women  left  their 
places  and  went  below.  When  the  bugle 
sounded  for  dinner  not  all  the  men  and  a  very 
few  women  sat  down  in  the  great  dining-hall. 
The  neglected  tables  groaned  under  the  good 
things  that  were  left  untouched.  The  band 
played  cheerily  in  the  little  bower  above,  while 
the  white-gloved  stewards  hurried  out  with  the 
empties,  and  came  back  with  the  nuts  and  pud 
ding  and  electric  ice-cream.  Before  the  meal 
was  over  the  ship  was  rolling  so  that  they  had 
to  lash  on  the  sideboards.  Only  one  woman 
remained  at  the  captain's  table.  She  was  a 
good  sailor.  Presently  the  big  ship  lifted  her 
nose  until  all  the  people  held  on  to  the  tables, 
and  then  she  gave  a  twist  and  came  down  on 
one  corner.  She  went  so  low  that  the  sea 


ON  A    ROLLING  SEA  173 

came  up  and  wet  all  the  windows.  It  reached 
up  to  the  promenade  deck,  leaped  to  the 
bridge,  over  the  ladies'  saloon,  and  tore  away 
six  yards  of  the  canvas  fence,  behind  which  the 
captain  stands.  It  came  along  the  deck,  a 
solid  stream,  two  feet  and  a  half  deep.  It 
gathered  up  all  the  steamer  chairs  and  drove 
them  in  a  drift  against  the  fence  that  marks 
the  line  between  the  first  and  second  class. 
The  people,  men  and  women,  who  had  stayed 
upon  deck,  were  washed  along,  and  piled  up 
among  the  chairs.  Mr.  Landon,  who  was  a 
poor  sailor,  slid  out  of  his  chair  that  was 
lashed  to  a  railing  that  ran  along  the  wall,  and 
went,  half  bent,  head  first,  for  the  heavy  fence 
that  runs  round  the  ship.  He  ran  so  fast, 
when  the  ship  sat  on  edge,  that  he  could  not 
straighten  up,  and  before  any  one  could  reach 
him  his  head  hit  the  railing.  He  went  down 
like  a  man  under  a  sandbag,  and  then  the  flood 
came  and  heaped  the  company's  property  and 
a  lot  of  people  on  top  of  him.  When  the  sea 
went  down  from  the  deck,  and  they  gathered 
the  old  man  up  he  was  dead,  —  but  he  came 
to  again. 


174  THE   WHITE  MAIL 

A  thoughtful  and  sympathetic  woman  rushed 
down  to  the  dining-saloon  and  broke  the  news 
of  the  accident  to  the  handsome  young  woman 
who  was  smiling  over  a  glass  of  champagne  at 
the  captain. 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Landon  !  yo'  father 's  dead." 

Miss  Landon  put  down  the  glass  and  got  to 
her  feet.  She  swayed  a  bit,  and  the  captain 
steadied  her.  "Is  that  true?"  she  asked, 
gazing  at  the  woman. 

"  Well,  he  was ;  he  's  better  now ;  he  —  " 

"Thank  you.  It  was  thoughtful  of  you  to 
come  and  tell  me." 

With  the  help  of  the  captain  and  the  chief 
steward  (for  the  ship  was  rolling)  she  passed 
out.  She  was  very  pale,  but  there  was  just  a 
hint  of  a  smile  upon  her  handsome  face. 

The  sympathetic,  thoughtful  woman  sank 
into  a  chair,  and  looked  foolish. 

When  the  ship's  doctor  had  bathed  the  old 
gentleman's  face  and  whipped  over  the  rent  in 
his  scalp,  he  was  able  to  talk  to  his  daughter. 

His  sister,  the  girl's  aunt,  was  helplessly  sea 
sick,  and  if  there  is  a  time  in  a  man's  life,  or  a 
woman's  life,  when  a  man  or  a  woman  is  utterly 


ON  A    ROLLING  SEA  175 

incapable  of  sympathy  for  any  human  being  who 
is  foolish  enough  to  want  to  live,  it  is  when  a 
man  or  woman  is  helplessly  seasick. 

"  Papa  was  wholly  unconscious  for  ten  min 
utes,  auntie,"  said  Kate. 

"  Oh,  how  glorious  !  If  I  could  only  put  this 
—  umph  !  horrid  —  Oh  !  ship  and  this  heaving, 
tossing  sea,  and  every  —  umph  !  thing  and 
everybody  out  of  my  mind,  and  then  get  out 
myself,  for  ten  minutes,  I  'd  strangle  the  doctor 
who  brought  me  back  to  this  miserable,  howl 
ing,  rolling,  watery  old  world." 

In  spite  of  her  troubles  (she  was  not  feeling 
any  too  fit  herself)  Miss  Landon  laughed  at 
this  pessimistic  tirade  from  her  usually  even- 
tempered  aunt. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE    NEW   PRESIDENT 

THAT  night  Miss  Landon  lay  in  her  narrow 
bed,  made  short-stops  of  her  elbows,  and 
listened  to  the  lash  and  roar  of  the  rolling  sea. 
At  times  the  ship  sank  so  deep  into  the  main 
that  one  would  fancy  the  keel  scraping  the  bot 
tom  of  the  Atlantic.  Nowhere  in  this  world 
does  one  feel  one's  insignificance  and  utter  help 
lessness  more  than  at  mid-ocean  in  such  a  sea. 
Miss  Landon  found  herself  thinking  how  help 
less  she  would  be  in  the  world  if  that  kind, 
indulgent  father  were  to  pass  away.  Half  her 
fortune  was  invested  in  a  railway  along  with  the 
fortunes  of  friends  and  neighbors,  who  knew 
nothing  about  the  business.  Naturally  enough 
her  mind  went  back  to  her  own  experience  on 
a  mountain  railroad,  and  to  the  handsome  con 
ductor.  She  went  to  sleep  thinking  of  McGuire, 
dreamed  of  McGuire,  and  woke  up  with  Mc 
Guire  fresh  in  her  mind,  and  marvelled  at  it. 


THE  NEW  PRESIDENT 


For  three  days  and  nights  the  sea  rushed  past 
the  rolling  ship,  and  Landon  lay  in  a  semi-sane 
condition. 

Finally,  at  dawn  one  day,  the  ship  slowed 
down  and  picked  up  a  pilot  out  of  a  small  boat 
that  was  floundering  in  the  ocean  and  appar 
ently  enjoying  it. 

"  I  want  to  see  one  of  your  passengers,  a 
Mr.  Landon,  before  I  go  upon  the  bridge, 
captain,"  said  the  man. 

"Mr.  Landon  is  not  fit  to  be  seen,"  said  the 
captain.  "  He  had  an  accident  Monday  after 
noon  off  the  banks." 

"  But  I  mtist  see  him,  captain." 

"  Well,  you  persistent  old  salt,  if  you  must, 
then  take  my  advice  and  see  his  daughter,  she  's 
a  whole  lot  better-  looking." 

"  I  have  a  very  important  message  for  your 
father,  Miss  Landon,"  said  the  pilot,  making  a 
sailor's  bow. 

"Thank  you,  I  '11  take  it." 

"  But  —  I  have  sworn  to  give  it  into  no 
hands  but  his,  and  I  —  " 

"Can't  trust  me?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  miss  —  but  —  " 

12 


178  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

Now  the  poor  man  had  become  so  confused 
that  he  had  allowed  the  handsome,  irresistible 
young  woman  to  take  the  letter.  She  tore  it 
open,  glanced  at  the  signature,  and  said,  "  Oh, 
this  is  all  right,  it 's  from  papa's  former  business 
partner.  He  wants  papa  to  do  nothing  until 
he  sees  him.  Well,  I  'm  sure  he  won't  do 
much,  poor  dear." 

"  Then  you  '11  be  responsible,  miss?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  '11  be  responsible." 

The  pilot  bowed  again  and  ran  up  the  ladder. 

When  the  big  ship  crawled  up  through  the 
fog,  slowed  again  and  picked  up  the  Govern 
ment  trunk-riflers,  a  man  throw  up  a  lump  of 
coal  with  a  letter  and  a  five-dollar  note  held  to 
it  by  a  rubber  band. 

"  Keep  the  dough  and  give  that  letter  to 
Landon,"  the  man  called  up  to  the  deck  stew 
ard  who  had  caught  the  coal. 

When  Miss  Landon  had  opened  this  letter, 
which  was  from  her  father's  solicitor,  whom  she 
disliked,  she  laughed.  "  '  Do  nothing  until  you 
see  me.'  I  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  do-nothing 
people." 

Now  another  tug   came   nosing   up   to   the 


THE  NEW  PRESIDENT  179 

liner,  as  a  herring  noses  about  a  floating  biscuit, 
and  up  came  another  lump  of  coal  with  a  note 
and  a  dollar.  The  note  was  addressed  to  Mr. 
Landon,  and  stated  that  the  "  Daily  Broker  " 
would  like  to  speak  to  him.  Miss  Landon 
crumpled  the  paper  in  her  hand,  leaned  over 
the  railing  and  looked  down  upon  the  paper 
man  who  had  his  chin  pointed  at  the  funnels  of 
the  big  boat. 

A  man  with  a  happy,  round  red  face  leaned 
over  the  side  and  said,  "You  can't  see  Mr. 
Landon." 

"Why?" 

"  He  's  hurted." 

"Bad?" 

"  Purty  bad." 

When  the  "Daily  Broker's"  extra  edition 
came  out  with  the  elaborate  account  of  the 
distressing  accident  to  Mr.  Landon,  there  was 
excitement  in  Wall  Street.  Naturally  the  Van 
Swells,  while  deeply  deploring  the  accident  to 
the  estimable  old  Yankee,  were  elated  at  the 
prospect  of  his  being  unable  to  vote  at  the 
election  which  would  take  place  in  three 
days. 


l8o  THE   WHITE  MAIL 

The  "  Daily  Broker  "  told  how  the  old  man 
had  gone,  against  the  captain's  protest,  upon 
the  hurricane  deck  when  the  ship  was  rolling, 
had  slipped  and  fallen  down  the  narrow  ladder, 
broken  his  left  arm  and  three  ribs.  These 
wounds,  the  paper  said,  were  not  necessarily 
fatal,  but  it  was  thought  by  the  ship's  doctor  — 
who  being  slightly  deaf  talked  very  low,  as  deaf 
people  do  —  that  the  venerable  New  Englander 
had  sustained  serious  internal  injuries. 

Nearly  every  one  had  left  the  steamer  when 
Miss  Landon  came  down  the  gangway,  followed 
by  four  stewards  carrying  her  father,  who, 
being  rich,  was  attended  by  the  ship's  surgeon. 
Miss  Landon  was  bewildered  by  the  crowd  of 
brokers,  reporters,  and  friends  assembled  at 
the  steamer.  She  had  never  dreamed  that  the 
Landons  were  of  such  importance.  Her  aunt 
took  little  note  of  anything,  being  obliged  to 
pinch  herself  to  see  whether  she  still  lived. 
The  ship's  surgeon,  appreciating  the  importance 
of  his  patient,  refused  to  allow  even  the  most 
intimate  friends  of  the  injured  man  to  speak  to 
him.  He  went  with  them  to  their  hotel  and 
remained  until  another  physician  could  be 


THE  NEW  PRESIDENT  l8l 

called.  The  new  doctor  was  worse,  if  anything, 
than  the  ship's  doctor.  This  was  a  severe  blow 
to  the  solicitor,  who  knew  better  than  to  try  to 
get  to  his  client  via  the  daughter. 

On  the  following  day  Miss  Landon  persuaded 
the  doctor  to  allow  her  father's  old  business 
partner  and  neighbor  from  Gloucester  to  see 
the  sick  man.  Landon's  mind  was  still  wavy, 
but  in  the  course  of  a  half-hour's  talk  the  visitor 
made  it  pretty  clear  to  the  injured  man  that  if 
the  Van  Swells  got  control  of  the  road,  in 
which  they  were  deeply  interested,  they  would 
be  likely  to  be  squeezed  out ;  if  not,  the  road, 
under  such  incompetent  management,  would 
be  sure  to  lose  money. 

"  It 's  Kate's  money,"  said  the  sufferer.  "  She 
railroads  all  the  time,  let  her  use  her  judgment," 
and  it  was  so  agreed. 

The  day  before  the  date  on  which  the  elec 
tion  was  to  take  place  they  moved  on  to  Boston. 
When  they  were  established  in  a  comfortable 
hotel,  their  Gloucester  friend  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  introduce  the  gentleman  who  was 
being  brought  forward,  without  any  effort  upon 
his  part,  as  the  choice  for  President  of  the 


1 82  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

anti-Van  Swell  faction,  to  which  the  Landons 
rightfully  belonged. 

Now  when  the  army  of  reporters  saw  the 
stranger  going  up  in  tow  of  the  Gloucester 
man,  they  knew  that  the  pink-tea  people  were 
beaten,  for  Landon's  vote  was  sure  to  elect  — 
it  was  the  balance  of  power. 

"This  is  Mr.  McGuire,  Miss  Landon,"  said 
the  Gloucester  man. 

McGuire,  who  was  utterly  indifferent  to  most 
people  and  most  things  in  this  world,  was  visibly 
affected.  Miss  Landon,  who  had  fainted  but 
once,  clutched  at  the  back  of  her  chair.  Mc 
Guire,  finding  his  voice  and  feet,  stepped  for 
ward,  saying,  in  far-away,  tremulous  tones,  like 
a  man  talking  in  his  sleep,  "  I  think  I  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Landon." 

The  Gloucester  man  managed  to  rally  from 
his  surprise  and  introduced  "  Auntie,"  who  until 
now  had  not  seen  the  distinguished  railroader. 

"  Is  it  possible?"  Miss  Landon  heard  herself 
say  right  to  the  man's  face. 

At  this  moment  a  street  piano  under  their 
windows  broke  loose  with  the  then  raging 
popular  air :  — 


THE  NEW  PRESIDENT  183 

"  Arrah,  Patsy  !  git  up  f'om  th'  fire, 

An*  guv  th'  mon  a  sate  ; 
Can't  ye  see  that  it 's  Misther  McGuire, 
Come  a  courtin'  yer  sisther  Kate  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  McGuire,  taking  her  hand  again, 
"  it  is  possible." 

Two  hours  later  the  Gloucester  man  was 
handing  a  carefully  prepared  "  interview "  to 
the  reporters. 

Mr.  Thomas  McGuire,  the  brilliant  young 
manager,  who  was  a  personal  friend  of  Mr.  Lan- 
don's,  would  be  the  next  President  of  the  Inter- 
Mountain  Air  Line.  This  arrangement,  while 
tacitly  understood  beforehand,  had  been  defi 
nitely  agreed  to  at  a  conference  between  Mr. 
Landon  and  his  friend  and  former  partner, 
who  would  represent  the  injured  man  at  the 
meeting  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE    MAID    OF    ERIN 

«  T70U  sent  for  me?"  asked  the  General 
•1  Manager  of  the  Vandalia. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  President.  "  You  remember 
Tom  McGuire?" 

"  Is  he  the  fellow  that  rode  a  mule  into 
the  White  Mail  one  morning  at  West  Silver 
Creek?" 

"  The  same  freckled  Thomas." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  remember  him,  for 
I  have  never  seen  him ;  but  I  have  not  had  an 
opportunity  to  forget  the  story  of  his  having 
saved  a  couple  of  trains  for  the  company. 
Every  time  I  go  down  the  Line  someone  re 
minds  me  of  his  heroism.  It  got  to  that  pass 
that  when  I  heard  the  car  hit  the  East  Bridge 
I  looked  up.  In  would  come  this  man's  father, 
who  is  now  roadmaster  on  the  west  end,  and 
say,  '  There 's  phare  Tommy  — '  and  if  I 
happened  to  be  alone  the  conductor  would 


THE   MAID   OF  ERIN  185 

break  the  great  news  to  me,  until  I  am  sick 
of  the  story." 

"  Well,"  said  the  President,  "  this  Thomas  is 
coming  over  the  road  to-day.  He  has  just 
been  re-elected  President  and  General  Manager 
of  the  Inter-Mountain  Air  Line.  He  is  bring 
ing  a  wife  with  him  ;  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
directors,  and  I  want  to  arrange  a  little  surprise 
for  him." 

"  That  means  a  special  train,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  that  would  not  surprise  him,  for  they 
are  running  him  special  over  the  Pennsylvania. 
Do  you  think  we  could  make  time  with  his  car 
on  the  White  Mail?" 

"  Well,  we  can  try  it.  I  '11  wire  Sedgwick  to 
give  us  the  best  engines  on  the  road.  It  will 
please  him,  I  dare  say,  to  ride  down  on  the 
White  Mail." 

"  Please  him  !  why  the  Van  will  get  all  the 
business  that  originates  on  the  Inter-Mountain 
for  the  next  hundred  years." 

"  Shall  you  meet  him  at  the  train?  " 

"  Ah,  yes.  We  're  very  good  friends ;  he 
did  his  first  work  for  me  when  I  was  general 
passenger  agent." 


1 86  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

An  hour  later  the  office  boy  handed  a  piece 
of  white  paper  to  the  Trainmaster,  upon  which 
was  written : 

"Put  President  McGuire's  car,  'Maid  of 
Erin,'  on  the  White  Mail  to-night.  G.  M." 

"Who  gave  you  this,  boy?  " 

"  G.  M." 

"  Himself?  " 

"That  same." 

"  Well,  you  take  this  back  and  ask  him  if  he 
means  the  Night  Express." 

Presently  the  boy  came  back,  stopped  in 
front  of  the  Trainmaster's  desk,  and  startled 
the  office  by  reading  aloud  : 

"  Trainmaster,  St.  Louis,  Vandalia,  Terre 
Haute  and  Indianapolis  Railroad,  Indiana 
polis  :  — 

"  Put  President  McGuire's  car,  '  Maid  of 
Erin  '  on  the  White  Mail  to-night.  G.  M." 

"Who  told  you  to  read  that?"  shouted  the 
indignant  Trainmaster. 

"The  G.  M.  told  me  to  read  it  to  you  and 
see  that  you  understood  it." 


THE  MAID  OF  ERIN  187 

There  was  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  the  boy's 
eye,  and  gore  in  the  eye  of  the  T.  M. 

The  operators,  bending  over  their  keys, 
glanced  at  each  other,  but  there  were  no  com 
ments.  There  is  very  little  talking  in  the 
office  where  the  despatchers  work. 

"  Here,  boy,"  said  the  Trainmaster,  handing 
a  piece  of  clip  to  the  messenger.  "  Take  that 
to  the  yardmaster."  This  order  read  : 

"  Hook  the  <  Maid  of  Erin '  on  the  White 
Mail  to-night." 

"  Who  gave  you  this  message  ?  "  demanded 
the  yardmaster. 

The  boy  was  ready  to  explode  with  fun 

"TheT.  M." 

"  Well,  you  go  back,  sonny,  and  ask  him  if 
he's  off  his  nut,  see?  "  The  boy  reached  for 
the  paper,  but  the  man  held  it  back.  "  Go 
and  ask  Mr.  Gilroy  to  explain  this  to  you," 
said  the  yardmaster.  "  Ask  him  if  he  means 
the  White  Mail  or  the  Night  Express." 

Presently  the  boy  came  back,  and,  hooking 
his  white  light  on  his  arm  as  he  had  seen 
passenger  conductors  do,  he  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  yardmaster's  office,  and,  having 


1 88  THE    WHITE   MAIL 

first  arrested  the  attention  of  the  switchmen, 
engineers,  and  firemen  who  were  "  railroading  " 
there,  read  aloud : 

"  To  the  yardmaster,  St.  Louis,  Vandalia, 
Terre  Haute,  and  Indianapolis  Railroad, 
Indianapolis :  — 

"Hook  the  'Maid  of  Erin'  on  the  White 
Mail  to-night.  T.  M." 

"  Damn  your  skin,  kid,  who  told  you  to 
read  that?" 

"The  T.  M.  Told  me  to  read  it  to  you 
and  see  that  you  understood  it,  see?" 

The  engine  had  just  been  coupled  to  the 
White  Mail,  that  had  come  in  carrying  green 
signals,  when  the  special,  running  as  second 
section  of  No.  i,  whistled  in.  The  President 
of  the  Vandalia  boarded  the  "  Maid  of  Erin," 
introduced  the  General  Manager,  and  they  were 
in  turn  introduced  to  Mrs.  McGuire.  By  this 
time  a  yard  engine  had  dashed  up  out  of  a 
siding,  picked  up  the  car,  and  set  her  gently 
on  behind  the  White  Mail. 

"What  time  shall  we  reach  the  river?" 
asked  the  President  of  the  Inter-Mountain. 

"At  7.50,"  said   the  President  of  the  Van- 


THE   MAID   OF  ERIN  189 

dalia.  "Possibly  7.49,  but  it  will  not  be  51, 
Tommy,  you  can  bet  on  that." 

"To-morrow  night,"  said  McGuire,  sur 
prised  but  smiling.  "  How  pokey  you  are  !  " 

"To-morrow  morning,  if  you  please." 

"  What,  you  're  not  running  us  special  ?  Now 
I  don't  want  you  to  do  that." 

"No,  you  are  going  on  a  regular  train," 
said  the  Van  man. 

"  Then,"  said  McGuire,  waving  his  hand 
enthusiastically,  "  we  're  on  the  White  Mail. 
Kate,  do  you  hear?  we're  going  through  on 
the  White  Mail  to-night.  Say,  this  is  —  " 

"Good-night!  Good-bye,"  said  the  officials, 
for  the  car  was  going.  The  yard  engine  was 
giving  them  a  kick  out  over  the  switches,  and 
by  the  time  the  President  and  General  Man 
ager  got  to  the  rear  platform  the  train  was 
making  fifteen  miles  an  hour.  The  headlights 
of  the  pony  shone  full  upon  the  happy  faces 
of  the  bride  and  groom  on  the  rear  of  the 
"  Maid  of  Erin,"  and  with  a  hurried  last 
good-night,  the  two  officials  dropped  off,  one 
on  either  side. 

They  had  long  since  ceased  to  carry  passen- 


THE    WHITE   MAIL 


gers  on  the  White  Mail,  and  the  engineer,  who 
is  not  always  consulted,  wondered  why  they 
hung  back  so  that  night. 

This  "  Maid  of  Erin  "  car  had  a  false  bot 
tom,  and  between  the  two  floors  there  was  a 
layer  of  forty-five  pound  steel  rails,  laid  close 
together,  to  weight  her  down  and  make  her 
ride  easy.  At  Terre  Haute,  the  engineer 
called  the  conductor  :  "  What  in  thunder  you 
got  on  behind  there  to-night,  Jack?" 

"  Private  car  —  <  Maid  of  Erin.'  " 

"  Huh  !  "  said  the  old  driver,  "  I  thought, 
way  the  dam  thing  pulled,  it  must  be  made  o' 
lead." 

When  the  conductor  learned  at  Terre  Haute 
that  the  man  in  the  private  car  was  President 
McGuire,  Thomas  McGuire,  freckled  Tommy, 
who  used  to  run  the  pump  at  West  Silver 
Creek,  he  could  scarcely  wait  until  they  pulled 
out  before  going  in  to  see  the  great  railroad  man. 

When  they  had  passed  over  the  last  switch 
the  conductor  went  back.  McGuire  turned 
and  glanced  at  the  man  in  the  bright  uniform. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  stammered  the  conductor, 
"  I  thought  you  were  alone." 


THE  MAID   OF  ERIN 


"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,  we  're  railroad 
people  —  sit  down.  I  assure  you  that  you 
could  not  be  more  welcome." 

«  But  —  I  was  looking  for  Mr.  McGuire  —  I 
thought  he  might  —  well,  we  used  to  work 
together  at  Silver  Creek." 

"  Is  your  name  Connor?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  thought  so.  Now  have  you  been  on  this 
train  since  you  left  Indianapolis,  and  just  now 
showed  up?" 

"  But,  you  're  not  Tom  —  Mr.  McGuire  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  I  —  am  —  Tom  Mr.  McGuire," 
and  the  President  took  the  two  hands  of  the 
sallow  conductor  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"Katie,"  he  said  suddenly,  "this  is  Jack 
Connor  —  little  Jack  that  helped  me  detect 
the  train  robbers  when  we  were  hiding  from 
the  police.  Shake  hands  with  Mrs.  McGuire, 
Jack,  and  then  sit  down." 

Mrs.  McGuire  had  been  sleeping  for  two 
hours.  Jack  had,  at  McGuire's  request,  been 
telling  him  all  his  troubles.  Things  were  going 
from  bad  to  worse.  The  Engineers  and  Fire- 


THE    WHITE  MAIL 


men  were  organized  to  fight,  but  the  O.  R. 
C.,  the  conductors'  organization,  was  opposed 
to  strikes,  and  he,  this  restless,  unhappy  soul, 
was  working  hard  and  hopefully  for  the 
formation  of  a  colossal  union  of  all  railroad 
organizations,  against  which  the  soulless  cor 
porations  could  not  prevail. 

"  But  what  's  the  good  of  all  this  work  and 
worry,  Jack?  " 

"  For  mutual  protection.  For  the  general 
welfare  of  workingmen." 

"  Oh,  workingmen  be  hanged  !  are  n't  we 
all  workingmen?  Wait  till  you  are  President 
of  a  railroad,  Jack.  When  your  nerves  are 
shaken  and  your  head  roars  when  you  go  to 
bed,  and  you  lie  awake  half  the  night  trying 
to  work  out  a  scheme  by  which  you  can  save 
a  few  millions  to  the  soulless  corporation  that 
is  clubbing  the  wolf  away  from  your  door,  and, 
incidentally,  save  your  reputation  and  your  job, 
then  you  will  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  working- 
man." 

Jack  smiled  pathetically,  and  glanced  about 
at  the  rich  hangings  and  expensive  furnish 
ings. 


THE   MAID  OF  ERIN  193 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  now.  You 
are  saying,  Tommy  seems  to  be  having  a  pretty 
good  time.  Well,  did  you  ever  see  a  drunk 
man  who  did  n't  seem  to  be  having  fun?  I  'm 
just  married." 

President  McGuire  had  intended  to  offer 
his  old  playmate  a  position  on  the  Air  Line, 
but  when  he  had  heard  him  discourse  for  a 
couple  of  hours  on  the  relations  of  "  Capital 
and  Labor,"  he  changed  his  mind.  "A  man 
who  is  always  hugging  a  grievance  will  forget 
to  flag,"  was  what  passed  through  the  Presi 
dent's  mind,  and  he  concluded  to  leave  his 
old  friend  on  his  native  heath,  where  he  was 
least  liable  to  get  into  trouble. 

"Jack,  my  boy,"  said  McGuire,  with  his 
hand  on  the  door  of  his  stateroom,  "you're 
on  the  wrong  leg  of  the  <Y,'  and  you'll  be 
throwing  sixes  all  your  life  unless  you  switch. 
If  I  work  hard  and  get  to  the  front,  and  you 
work  hard  and  get  to  the  front  —  if  each 
man  takes  care  of  his  own  job,  always  lending 
a  helping  hand  to  a  fellow-worker  when  he 
can,  there  won't  be  many  misfits  or  failures, 
Jack. —  Good-night." 

13 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

OVER   THE    BIG   BRIDGE 

DENIS  McGuire's  successor  in  the  little 
shanty  down  by  the  bridge  had  shown 
a  white  light  to  the  driver  of  the  Midnight 
Express,  and  was  up,  and  out  with  the  dawn,  to 
show  a  milk-white  flag  to  the  men  on  the  White 
Mail  in  the  morning. 

Down  at  East  St.  Louis,  Roadmaster 
McGuire  and  Mrs.  McGuire,  who,  in  addition 
to  being  "the  President's  mother,"  continued 
to  make  herself  generally  useful  about  the 
house,  were  crossing  the  big  bridge  in  order 
to  be  at  the  Union  depot  when  the  White  Mail 
came  in  with  the  "  Maid  of  Erin." 

McGuire  had  been  called  early,  and  at 
dawn,  when  the  black  steed  stopped  to  drink 
at  Highland,  Mrs.  McGuire  joined  him.  The 
President  tried  hard  to  appreciate  the  situation. 
Here  was  the  realization  of  a  dream  that  he 
had  not  dared  dream  in  his  happiest  and  most 


OVER    THE  BIG   BRIDGE  195 

hopeful  moods.  He  was  going  over  the  Silver 
Creek  bridge  on  the  White  Mail  and  in  his 
own  private  car,  and  he  tried  to  feel  perfectly 
satisfied  with  himself  and  the  world.  If  he 
could  only  work  himself  up  to  feeling  as  proud 
and  important  as  he  did  the  day  he  took 
charge  of  the  mule,  the  tank,  and  all  the  com 
pany's  property  at  West  Silver  Creek,  he  would 
be  glad,  but  it  would  not  go.  He  was  really 
a  great  man  now,  and  that  enabled  him  to 
appreciate  what  a  little  bit  of  a  hole  would  be 
left  if  one  great  man  were  to  be  pulled  out 
of  the  world. 

The  engine  screamed.  "  That 's  St.  Jacobs," 
said  McGuire  to  his  wife,  and  the  station  was 
behind  them.  Here  the  President  had  his 
first  disappointment.  The  man  who  stood 
upon  the  platform  in  his  shirt  sleeves  was  a 
stranger.  The  old  agent  was  in  Texas.  Now 
the  train  sank  into  the  sag  at  East  Silver, 
lifted  again,  as  an  ocean  steamer  lifts  her 
huge  form  over  a  high  sea,  screamed  on  the 
ridge,  and  then  went  roaring  down  toward  the 
bridge.  How  dwarfed  and  mean  things 
looked  !  The  old  saw-mill  was  gone,  and  only 


196  THE    WHITE  MAIL 

a  brown  heap  of  sawdust  marked  the  place.  The 
mill-pond,  into  which  he  had  taken  many  a  run 
and  jump  from  the  railroad  grade,  was  a  slimy, 
stagnant  pool  covered  with  green  scum. 

"  Now  look,  dear  !  —  here  —  there  !  There  's 
where  the  White  Mail  got  mixed  up  with  me 
and  the  mule." 

"But  where 's  the  bridge,  dear?  Show  me 
the  bridge  you  used  to  guard,  and  the  — " 

"There,  that's  it.  Isn't  it  little?  Why,  I 
used  to  fancy  that  was  about  the  biggest  bridge 
on  the  road." 

"  But  you  're  a  big  boy  now,  Tommy,"  said 
his  wife,  patting  him  playfully  on  the  back, 
"and  things  look  different." 

The  whistle  sounded  again,  and  the  "  Maid 
of  Erin"  whipped  round  the  curve  at  Hagler's 
tank. 

There  was  a  steady  pull  against  the  grade 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  the  President 
felt  the  train  falling  into  the  broad  bottoms 
and  saw  the  bluffs  lift  in  their  wake.  He 
turned,  and  stole  a  look  at  the  handsome 
woman  who  had  left  a  luxurious  home  on  the 
Atlantic  to  follow  him  into  the  West.  He 


OVER    THE   BIG  BRIDGE  197 

began  now  to  appreciate  his  prize,  and  his 
other  successes  grew  insignificant  and  mean, 
like  the  bridge,  and  the  pond,  and  the  mill-site. 
Feeling  his  glance,  she  turned  her  smiling 
face  to  him,  bright  and  beautiful  as  the  break 
ing  morn,  and  he  thought  then  that  he  had 
tasted  what  men  call  happiness. 

With  a  rush  and  a  roar,  they  swept  up  the 
incline,  and  McGuire,  glancing  up  and  down 
the  river,  said,  as  a  man  might  say  in  a 
dream :  "  We  're  crossing  the  big  bridge  on 
the  White  Mail." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD    AUG1V69^PR 


DECS 


LD2lA-60m-6,'69 
(J9096slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


